Behold! There's my Enemy
by rafaell
Summary: Fate can be cruel & fickle; outwitting Vayne can be quite challenging. Noah/Ashe, Vayne. Part one of this series is complete. Warnings for dark themes.
1. Chapter 1: the challenge

**Title**: Behold! There's my Enemy.  
Characters/Pairing: Noah/Ashe, Vayne.  
Rating: R, for adult situations. (nothing too explicit)  
Summary: a strange twist of fate brings Ashe and Noah together, and fate can be cruel & fickle. Outwitting Vayne can be quite challenging!

**Warnings **for Dark themes & sexual situations, violence & dark comedy.  
A/N: this strange & hilarious plot bunny nagged, so here it is.

_The King Slayer_

* * *

"Your duties, Gabranth, is to cater to the Princess of Dalmasca, and to assure that she gives us a heir, mixed with your blood." Vayne eased himself back upon the large senate seat—the colours of House Solidor seem to shine brilliantly above him like a premonition of the future. It was rifed with the coming of an Apolocalypse in which only Archadia shined in the light—blotting out the competition.

Gabranth stood wordlessly, staring at something past Vayne's shoulder, and which it was, he could not possibly know, see, understand but feel the bitter acid that stung his throat, the bile that wanted to inch its way past his mouth. He wished he could show an unemotional coup in the face of his Emperor's peregrine son. As much as he was willing to stand before him—to take in all the orders thrown at him, this—_this was too much to bear. _He slew her father in cold blood, all in the name of the Empire; and in secret, it was mostly—if not largely in part of Basch's connection, to throw the blame on his twin who abandoned him and their family years before. He swallowed, listened to the demands in which Vayne set upon him.

"Show our Princess, what it means to give an heir, to save her country," Vayne leaned forward, his hands entwined atop the sleek, shiny waxed desk, cleaned of everything save for the banner's cloth, of a dragon's black thin line and the dark damask of blood.

"Come now, Gabranth. This task, is perhaps, the easiest for you to take on." Vayne continued, a smug smile etched across his face, "Among all the others I've given you—this one, should be pleasant. Unless…" his eyes looked momentarily at the armoured crotch.

"Unless," he continued, teeth showing, "you would like to tell me that you're incapable there?"

It took a moment, but Gabranth's expression changed, slight—from stone cold to a furrowed brow that gave away his anger, "Excellency," he nearly bit out, for the title alone would have, remained with his former liege. It belonged to Lord Gramis, and it was with loyalty alone that kept him aligned with the Empire. Now, this was a blow to his pride, and as much as Vayne stabbed him with words, how much he's been shown to kneel and bow, like a hound searching for scraps laid at the table---_ how much can a hound take?_ He took a deep breath.

"Nay, I am capable."

"Splendid," Vayne clapped his hands together, "splendid, ah, fear not, Gabranth. I would take the duties myself, however, I find her a little too feisty for my taste. Dalmasca may have beautiful hume females, but I'm just not quite up to anything other than the usual fare I take in Archadia."

Gabranth finally locked eyes with Vayne, "When do you want this to occur?" He knew he sounded forced, and perhaps because of this, the Emperor's keen-eyed son took note of it.

"You'll find her chambers where the sun comes up, above the library. Here's the key," Vayne's predatory eyes dug into Gabranth's—intense, "We'll make sure you go through with your duties, as there will be chambermaids to attend to her highness's_ delicate situation." _

The key was thrown in the air, and as Gabranth's gloved hands caught it, he turned it over, where the golden head of the device held a lion's visage, the jagged indention of where the key-hole would fit.

"You shall proceed, tonight. Immediately." Vayne leaned back again, "Now, go, I've other duties to attend to."

His steps felt heavy, each weight burdened on him as he took the flight up those stairs. Lined with rich colours of the Empire, the banister seemed to sway before him---swirling high in a snake-like fashion to where the end of the steps would eventually lead him. His fist held the key, concrete-sharp, cutting into his gloved hands, as if it meant to bite at his conscience. Does he even believe that he could possess a sense of scruple after this?

He couldn't understand why, and he was not about to question why—just go through with this. Gabranth knew, in the back of his mind that she would not be assenting to this union. The thought to him was an absolute disgrace to him, therefore—for her—it must be twenty if not a thousand times worse. He never thought of her father as anything but a man who stood behind a small country, believing in the lies that the Empire foisted on him. Mentally, he was not there to place a conscience, but to oversee the entire project as a duty he was willing to take, to right the wrongs. To bring justice.

The sun was going down, the window by the massive double doors where the end of the stairway led him, brought in the last remaining rays of light, like a dying gold-bronze colour searching for cover amongst the wood shiny walls and furniture.

When he reached to the lock, his hands nearly shake, finding his forehead pressed against the hard cool surface of the wooden barred double doors. _He doesn't want this_—he has to go through with it and when the door turned, with the flick of his wrist, the sound of the creak nearly sending him back down the stairway, cowering like a fool. But he doesn't. If anything, he was determined to see this through…

Gabranth found her sitting there, lounging on the circular bed, with the diaphanous curtain falling around her, as if the setting and the atmosphere was supposed to be like this—to set her up like some kind of concubine, for his will alone, _for him_.

He swallowed, finding no true words to greet her. She doesn't even turn her face to see who entered, but when he stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him with a loud click, her eyes, sharply glanced over. Her hands were tied together at the front, the metal bar looking quite uncomfortable locking her delicate soft wrists together, perhaps—even chafing that fine skin.

She breathed in a kind of shaky inhalation, until her eyes sunk into him, fully. Her breath came out like a terrible hiss between her straight teeth, _"You."_

"Daughter of Dalmasca," he said, almost breathless, "I'm sure you're aware of my coming here?"

He takes a step forward, closer to the bed, where there are two slight steps leading to the velvety-circular extravagance of Vayne's almost- debauch display.

Gabranth could find no other means to placate the woman who sat there, could see that she was shaking with a kind of fury that was evident in her eyes. He expected nothing less.

"If you think for a minute that I would let you into my bed," she winced, knowing that this was not her bed, was not her home, was taken against her will, but her chin lifted, a stubborn furious determination planted there, "then you're sorely mistaken that I would allow my father's murderer to touch my skin…"

"I'm afraid," he stripped away the gloves, glad that his helm was off, did not want to see her shocked expression when he would have entered without it—taking it off as a dramatic cue. This was, to his chagrin, already quite too much, "I agree with you," he nodded, almost too proper, stiffened when she bared her teeth.

"Bastard, how dare you! Come closer to me, and you'll find these bars won't hold me for long."

"What are you going to do, daughter of Dalmasca?" He swallows, the lump in his throat felt dry, his demeanour shaken by the fact that she's wearing scarcely nothing---the small pink skirt she normally wore still hugged around her waist, but the way she was sitting, her legs over on one side, bunched the material too tight around her hips, flattened against her thighs. Her breasts were covered, almost bare with a see-through linen patched around them, tied on the back.

Her stomach was flat, and her figure would have made another man melt, but he was too jaded, he believed, his eyes harden under her vicious tongue.

"Find out for yourself, murderer!" she said with an obvious intimidation, her eyes ablaze with the kind of passion that a hot desert princess would and should possess.

"I'm in no mood for such dramatic display, Ashelia." He addressed her without title, and this made her curl her lip, her breathing allowed her breasts to strain against the flimsy material. His eyes had not missed anything, taking everything in, and while his gloves were off, he determinedly proceeded to undo the clasps that hold his armour.

"While I agree with you—in that I hold no love for this--," he made an expression, he hoped—that was close to disgusted and unwanted, "this is something that I must do. And according to my liege, it is something that you must do as well, to save yourself…"

She watches him as he takes off what he can, until he's standing there with only a light coloured shirt over him, down to his thin-material trousers, and he sees that she pauses her eyes over to his crotch.

This makes him feel a flicker of something—not quite unwanted, but she turned away, almost disgusted with herself for looking too long.

He saw the fear in her eyes then, as he approached, she made this un-princess-like growl, her hands tied together tightened into fists. Gabranth doesn't really want this—doesn't really want to force a woman against her will. This was wrong. When has he relegated his duties as a Judge Magister to sink so far low as to take a Princess to bed without her consent?

Ah, but this wasn't about what _he_ wanted, nor was it about what _she_ wanted. They were caught up into this web of deceit and it ate at him. If he went through with this, it would be as equally bile as the moment he wanted to forget---when he took the dagger with his own hands, taking Drace's life. He knew by looking into his fellow Judge's eyes that she consented the vitriolic act. Still—he could not, find peace in his sleep nights after that. What was another degrading action to list upon the deeds that the son of Gramis appointed him to do?

Instead, he managed to settle himself upon the bed, while the Princess edged back, her eyes livid. He was, much to his mild amusement---she had a look about to tear him apart despite their situation, despite the obvious factor that she was the one bound by the wrists, scarcely wearing much.

He decided to reason things with her, not to tell her that she would find things easier with this task, but the swing of her arms caught him off-guard as she lunged at him. He was usually quick—faster than most who could shield himself against an attack—but this—he wasn't expecting such a furious demonstration of feral veracity.

When she swung with the metal bar, his hands tried to block—and the solid object thunked noisily against the side of his face, nearly knocking him out. Gabranth landed back on the bed finding the princess atop him with her arms raised, the object coming down to land another furious blow. This time, teeth clenched, he caught her action mid-stride, and she was growling, screaming something out, but he could not—did not comprehend her ranting as her body ungracefully moved with haste. Somehow, their bodies tangled together on the bed until Gabranth finally managed to wrangle her petite struggling form below his.

She spat on his face then, while he tried finding hold on her wriggling body, "Cease this! I'm not here to force you against your will!"

Her eyes were wet with tears, but the anger there—it was dangerous, glinting with rage, "Liar! You're a liar! Murderer and liar!"

Gabranth breathed hard, forced his heavier body against hers so she could not, would not wriggle free, his face only scarce centimeters from hers—and if he wanted, he could—he could kiss her parted mouth, shut out her wrath from his ears. But he didn't, not like this—and certainly, if matters were different, he wouldn't have chosen Ashelia B'nargin of Dalmasca as his mate. Royal blood aside, he was simply not interested. She was not even his type.

_Too feisty,_ for his taste, was what Vayne said. He was inclined for once, to agree with Vayne. What was he expecting to find? Her in tears and pleading for her life and her virtue?

"Are you willing to cease?" he asked, his tone too considerate, "because if you continue in this behavior, I shall have to lie here for a very long time above you, and," his throat moved, "considering how we're barely clothed, I would not be such a gentleman for a lengthier time,—however much," his eyes moved to her parted mouth again, her pink tongue flicked out, wetting her lips. He didn't understand this trivial action, and indeed, it brought a lucid comprehension that his body's weight was pressing--- her body's pliant, _too soft, _and his groin pushed against the mound between her thighs—it was, with much discomfort—his cock has grown hard.

"Gentleman?" she sneered, teeth bared, "I don't think you understand the meaning of the word, murdering scum."

"Enough already, daughter of dalmasca," he explained, proceeding to address her in this same manner, "Copiously, I am aware that I'm the murderer, liar, and everything else you deem to toss at me. But,_ I beg you,_ and this—I mean in the most respectful way possible."

He closed his eyes momentarily as she pushed her hips against his, struggling in a futile attempt, "don't," he tries to tell her, "don't do that."

The princess's eyes widen with the knowledge that she was, clearly to him—could plainly discover how _hard _he was, pushing against her groin.

"Oh gods," her eyes widened, understanding too much---"you—said you wouldn't take me against my will," she was perhaps, to his clinging sanity- trying to find some sense into all of this---perhaps pleading with him to find _his good sense_.

"It would," a muscle moved along his jaw as he clenched his teeth, "make matters easier, as there's the task of us, actually completely the act itself,"

His hand gripped her arms where they were held above her head, slackened slightly, "Unless you and I come up with a plan,"

"You- you would--," she stammered, plainly perplexed, "not touch me, if--unless we find another way?"

He released a sigh, "aye," closing his eyes, his other hand pressing against the mattress, palm flattened to feel the material and strands of her silken hair.

Gabranth was known for plenty of things, and one of them was to withstand pain until it nagged at him—until his nervous system, the nerve bundles, flesh & blood throbbing, decided to tap him on the shoulder, begging for attention. This was, case in point—the side of his head where the Princess nearly knocked him out.

He completely slackened his hold on the Princess, turning over with a low painful groan.  
With his body released from above her, Ashelia was able to breathe a little easier, looked over at the Judge. She sat up, "You…all right?"

Gabranth opened one eye, his hand pressed against his temple, "Is that genuine concern?"

"Nay." She hissed, "I am merely figuring out if I should land another blow to the other side of your head."

"You're a witch." He grumbled, "but I deserved that, I suppose." The judge released a long exhale, then squeezed his eyes shut—clearly in pain, "damn. I'm—I'm not going to be up for anything."

"Brilliant!" Ashelia made a scowling face, "besides, you said we'd work something out, and it better be something within reason!"

"I thought, perhaps, that you, princess would be able to use that famed wit of yours," he pushed himself up to a sitting position, their closeness was indeed, quite amusing—he the fallen Judge, and her—the captured princess. How truly trite this situation was.

"I?" her voice on the edge of exasperation, "if you hadn't noticed, Judge Gabranth, I'm all tied up!" she raises her arms up a bit, her fingers uncurled, "there's not much else I can think of while being in this undeserved state."

"Not quite," he mumbled, and saw the slight flare in her eyes, "all right, all right, I was thinking…"

She seemed quite apt to listen, as he could see her body lean in, her mouth slightly parted.

"Hmmm," Gabranth sent her a curious look, hand still caressing the side of his face, "first thing's first, I'd like something cool to place on my head. I believe that I'm about to sport a rather large lump soon."

Ashelia sighed, ignoring his request, "Do you suppose you could get me out of this predicament?" then stopped herself, "that doesn't mean I'll ever forgive you for what _you_ did!"

"_Of course_," gritting out tersely," I wasn't expecting you to," he blew a ragged breath out of his mouth, "let me go to Vayne, and suggest that our supposed union would not be able to take place until you are free from your bind."

"_And?"_

"And….then, after I free you, I can report back with my evidence," his eyes shift to the side of his face where he was holding his head, "say that you hit me over the head, knocking me out, therefore, allowing you to run out that window, vanishing into the night."

Ashe stared at him for a minute, leaning her head to one side, then she burst out laughing, "That is the most ridiculous plan I've ever heard!"

"Do you propose another?" He growled, not amused, "I find the act between us to be just as contemptible,"

"You didn't react that way," she couldn't, perhaps help herself as her eyes strayed to his groin, "as I recall, very clearly, you were ready to--!" she bit back the retort.

"I'm merely a male in my prime, I suppose, nothing unusual about that." Gabranth rolled his eyes, sighing, "I cannot help what my body responds to."

She lifted a fine brow, "Indeed, well. Then go, go to Vayne and propose this ridiculous plan and then we'll see."

He eyed her suspiciously, "As long as there's no more flailing about with your hands, I believe my _one_ swelling bump would suffice for evidence."

"You're going to don your helm on while asking for this request, I suppose?"

"Naturally," he proceeded to get out of bed, "I'll return to you when I claim the key."

"I want my clothes back!" she shouted at his retrieving back, "I can't ride off without transportation! Procure me a chocobo where I can find it and ride off."

"Demanding, aren't you?"

"How else am I going to get myself out of here?"

He nodded, determined, placing his armour slowly back on, "I hope this plan works, Daughter of Dalmasca."

* * *

_to be continued._


	2. Chapter 2: That was Easy

**chapter 2**.

Vayne appeared to be listening. His head bent to one side, the longish wavy hair partially obscuring his lean hawkish face. There seemed to be a mechanism ticking above his head, perhaps--his mind was taking everything in_...._He took some time, perhaps a moment to assess the situation in his head, leaned forward with a rather metallic glint in his eye.

Finally, Vayne Solidor released a long afflicted sigh, "She's actually agreeing to this?" His fingers touching, bridging while elbows on the surface, his dark hair hung to cover one eye, and the Judge wondered if their insidious plan would actually work. Vayne swiveled his body towards window, facing Archadia's twilight.

"How is it that you've managed to agree something with the Princess?" the misgiving was clear in his tone.

"She wants to save her country," Gabranth cleared his throat, not even sure that _that_ excuse was even believable. He continued, his mind raced, "she asks, only to be freed and return to Dalmasca afterward."

Vayne raised his brows, nearly reaching his hairline, was not convinced, mouth turned completely upside-down, "without her child? Hard to digest this new information."

Gabranth wanted to kick himself mentally, "whatever the reason, she won't consent without being released--," he drew his dark blond brows together, "at least, in her case—the binds that secure her wrists."

"Why don't you just _take_ what she won't offer?" Vayne's laconic reply was edged with irritation, "she doesn't have a choice. Prisoners don't exactly make demands." Then he turned completely to face Gabranth, watched with amusement how the Judge's face was forcibly without an expression, despite the strictness in his body.

"All right," Vayne waved his ringed hand, "I'm being quite unreasonable, am I?" he laughed, "but I daresay I'll warn you—you won't find her very easy with or without the binds."

"I'm aware of that, however, I'll take my chances."

"The key, Judge Gabranth, has always been in your possession."

"I see." the Magister's mind registered immediately to the object--- still kept the lion-head's golden key within his pockets, "I'll return quickly when the success of the task is….complete."

"Yes, do so," Vayne replied laconically, flipping his dark lustrous wavy hair back, "oh—and do take care to be on guard at all times with her."

Gabranth left the large office room, glad to note that even Dr. Cid was not around to babble-nonsense around the halls, or find him whispering to the invisible but all-knowing Venat who sometimes, much to his consternation, indulge in revealing secrets that concern him. Tonight, he was pleased the mad doctor was probably creating new experiments in his laboratory---and he could certainly use one of those gadgets too. At least more than a chocobo to set the princess on her sanctimonious way.

Speaking of which—he turned towards the barracks, intent on finding the princess her transport. He was not about to use one of his air-ships. The consequences of her getting caught afterward, was not his concern. However, there is the matter of her actually snitching on the entire plan. He grit his teeth, determination set him on the look out for the most quick fleeted large bird.

When everything was arranged, in addition to procuring her old clothes-- minus the skirt--which he found in the treasury, Gabranth managed to reach her quarters two steps at a time, glad to be rid of this entire fiasco of an affair. Every one who has had the undesirable chance to meet the Dalmascan blue-blooded female would know and understand immediately that she was more than a handful if given the chance to escape. Somehow, to Gabranth's impression, there was a bit of a shrewdness that she possessed as well.

He found her pacing the room, with an entirely new wardrobe, so it seemed—with her legs bare, _again,_ the long rose-coloured diaphanous skirt reaching to her ankles; it was parted on the side, and the belt that attached to it was riddled with sparkling jewels, hugging her small waist; the pink skirt gone and replaced with a somewhat-bathing suit underwear that appeared very tiny, and if she turned around while pacing, her rear looked very generous for what it lacked to cover, _quite a bit_. He wanted to look away--felt as if he was walking into something too private. Instead, he chastised himself for acting like a besotted hume-male who hasn't seen a decent female_. _

_Mental note to self: get out and get some this week when this is over. _His continued perusal of her clothing reached above, where she wore a white shortened vest, barely tied in the middle, accentuating her breasts. She stopped short of pacing as she saw him standing by the door, helm off and held by his side.

Gabranth merely raised a fine dark blond brow at the sight, "I take it Vayne requested that you look the part?"

She was seething, her lips a thin line, and her eyes hardened, "As if the one I parted with was not bad enough!"

"Well," he mused indelicately, "that pink skirt you wore, isn't that what you _usually wear?"_

She ignored that, her arms lifted forward, "So? Undo me."

"Patience, Daughter of Dalmasca, patience." He wasn't really _that_ patient, but for some bizarre notion, he liked seeing her agitated. _Gods, _he shook his head mentally—it must be because he really liked to see her flustered, unstabling her usual high-and-mighty self.

She opened her mouth, jaw dropped, "Judge Gabranth!" stomped her foot once as if to give a strong, vital result, "I told myself I would be perfectly mannered, and not cause much havoc, because, in my hopes that you would actually go through with this ludicrous arrangement."

He half grinned, "I was, uh," clearing his throat, "joking."

"Joking?!" Ashelia blinked, sarcasm spat out,"_Oh yesss. _That's quite amusing, all right."

Gabranth took her hands, felt the metallic bar that wasn't quite too heavy for her, but was, to his still throbbing head, quite effective if placed in good use. Procuring the key, he searched for the device which would open her freedom.

When she was free, Ashelia rubbed her wrists, "Ah it feels good to be out of those, what did Vayne expect you to do while you rut like some kind of beast to take me, place my hands over my head the entire time?"

Gabranth flinched at that, was not entirely used to a princess to get to the point, not mincing words, "the key to your imprisonment was the same key to use to get in here."

She grabbed her clothes, "then if you had used your head earlier you could have figured that out before hand, before you would have, well, taken me."

He did take note that she made a somewhat disgusted expression.

"Has it not never occurred to you, Judge Gabranth, why this must be done between us?"

He shrugged, "I'm not concerned overall what he wants, or why he wants something done; yet, I'm sure it's partially due to humiliating both our reputations. Something that, for some anomalous motive—amuses him."

"You're in league with him yourself!" she grit her teeth, "he murdered his siblings, and his father! You both are cut of the same cloth!"

"If I were, Princess, why would I be assisting you?"

"That is something that I'm not quite ready to understand!" she glared at him, "turn your head around, I'm about to dress."

Gabranth did as he was told, leaned forward while sitting on the bed, with his elbows on his knees, shaking his head, giving in to the Princess's dignity, "I have your chocobo ready—waiting below stairs; however, you'll find it a little distanced from the stables."

He listened to the rustle of her clothing, felt the movement of the bed as she jostled into her boots, the sound of the armour connecting, securing around her thighs. It rankled him that he could, see how she dressed, just now—his eyes locked at the large reflected darkened window that allowed him such visuals.

She too could see, as her eyes caught his on that reflection. A garish-tasseled pillow hit the side of his head, "you can see me dress!"

Quickly retrieving the decorated cushion, he growled, "I wasn't watching you the entire time. My eyes had the misfortune to stray there."

* * *

to be continued.


	3. Chapter 3 : Run, Ashelia, Run

**Chapter 3: Part I.**

So, perhaps, it wasn't a brilliant idea to release Lady Ashelia from her binds until he set her off. For revenge, in one so passionate and young, was a delicious inspiration to her—as she took the other decorated pillow—amongst the vulgar display of rich satins and plump cushions with sparkling jewels sewn in—to land it on the side of his face.

"If only I had a sword!" Ashelia angry retort gave way to her frustrated dressing, making her movements awkward and hasty, "I would run it through you with no regrets!"

He released an exasperated breath, glad to see she did not care for lengthy nails, "I have no doubts that you would do that. But know this—I would not be an agreeable opponent at the end of your blade."

"A challenge?" She raised a fine brow, her white teeth clenched, "Under different circumstances, you and I will have to test our blades, Judge Gabranth."

"I would be honoured to take the impending confrontation," he told her, with open honesty, his eyes clear and blue, unwavering.

She stared at him, furious expression and disclosure, "you look like him so much, it's not a wonder everyone believed him to be the murdering bastard."

"He is my twin."

"Yet, so, different."

Just then, a maidservant popped in to check in them, seeing Lady Ashe kneeling on the satin-lined bedding, her clothes partly on, the diaphanous skirt at his feet, where he sat looking casual and lounging without his helm. His head snapped up to look directly at the maidservant's blushing expression.

"Oh! Forgive me!" she giggled, "I didn't know you were going to--," she gasped, mouth opened, her hands over them as if she wanted to bite back the naughty words.

When the door closed immediately, Gabranth looked up at Lady Ashe, "why did she return?"

She shrugged one delicate shoulder, "Just to make sure you weren't going to fool me and if you were about to actually take me without consent, she'd be here to interrupt at least."

He flinched at the distasteful image, "I'm not that kind of man. I thought—that you already knew the circumstances of this fiasco."

"Spare me the lies, murderer."

Perhaps, Gabranth was simply too tired; the mind and body releasing a kind of reaction to the evening's most trying events. He stood up quickly; angry expression replaced his once cool exterior, so quick that the bed shook enough to land Ashelia on her back, "Are you going to wait until I take you right here, Lady Ashe? Because, bringing up my twin, and my status, makes me a little eager to want to prove to you, even more of what you already think of me." He drew closer, hands on either side of her, "might as well," he eyed her deliberately, from her lips, to her breasts, to her lips again, "put this to the test."

She stared at him, in horror, and part-anger and disbelief, "I don't believe you! You're doing this on purpose, to rile me! Don't test me, Judge Gabranth—your other swelling lump looks like it may need its own twin!"

Despite her words, he couldn't help be satisfied, "I thought so." He whispered, stood and straightened, "the chocobo's waiting."

Aye, he liked to see her flustered and agitated. There was an inkling of a grin on his face when he turned away.

**Chapter 3: part II: hallucination**

"I'm truly sorry," she told him, voice quavering, lower lip trembling, "it's just that, I miss my father, and you—you were the one, who took him away from me, from my people." Tears started coming down in huge droplets, rivulets down her fine cheeks.

She grabbed him—her fingers grappling for a hold of his armour, shoved him back, "I'm sorry! Can you forgive me for being so horrible to you!?"

"Princess Ashelia," he whispered, his back solid against the wall, looking down at this frail being, her eyes spots of wet jewels. He slowly moved his gloved hands over her slender shaking shoulders, "It was my duty, for what I have done, I cannot be blamed entirely for the Empire, I can only bow my head in shame for the part that I took in slaying your father—for it is, I'm afraid---," Gabranth gripped her shoulders, fingers digging in, but she didn't seem to mind, her cheeks plastered with salty tears, running down her lips. He swallowed wordlessly, "it was, selfish of me, because I—it gave me a chance to take down my brother."

It was the first time, in his entire life that he has ever confessed this, not truly believing it himself---and he searched, for something, recognition of belief in her wet eyes, then shock registered in his mind as she nodded.

"I understand." She told him, the sound of forgiveness and kindness laced in her tone, and to his horror, Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca tiptoed to meet his lips, "I forgive you."

He woke up with a sweat, almost screaming in the darkened room, naked chest heaving, the sheets wet with his perspiration. Gabranth frantically looked around, but found that he was alone, all alone in his room—where the window was still partly open, the candle snuffed out, allowing only the tiny glint of a half moon hanging over black swirling threatening clouds. He reached up with a shaking hand, pushed away the sweat from his brow, looking down to see that he had probably found his way to his bed this evening, taken off his clothes and slept soundly. Gabranth acknowledged with a painful exhale, fell back down on the bed, against the cushion, with both his hands on his face, fingers spread, thinking to himself---_he had a nightmare!_

For the first time in many months, he has finally gotten a couple hours into sleep, only to be wakened by the horrific unrealistic-fact that the Princess was begging for his forgiveness and reached for a kiss. He hoarsely whispered into the empty room, "Gods, never have I been so blissful to have that woman gone."

Still, he was aware that she had gone off into the night, taken the chocobo, as it has been a scarce few hours since—since he has had, before falling dead-asleep into a blissful forgetfulness---the opportunity to inform Vayne of being knocked out by the Princess's knock to his head. As evidenced, he revealed the nasty piece of work she had done to him on the side of his head.

**Chapter 3: Part III: the Big Excuse**

**Characters: Vayne, Gabranth, Larsa**

Vayne was, to be expected not pleased with the resulting and inevitable impending doom of losing his captured princess. Lord Gramis's calculating son was a picture perfect of livid-tomato red irate Solider, with his palms flattened against his immaculate desk—whitened by the pressure; his dark wavy hair all on one side, the blue-vein along his temple throbbed menacingly, and seemed to Gabranth—who was held mesmerized—pop out. But the anger must have subsided, as he saw Larsa walk into the room.

Vayne's voice, was usually controlled, but today---of all days, he was a little edgy, "She has GONE? FLED?" his mouth moved, wordlessly, before he uttered in a dark threatening voice, "Gabranth, my father has always revered you as his favourite, but think well—this! You have allowed her to go without chase? Are you perchance hiding something from me?"

Young Lord Larsa stood between, looking from the Judge to his brother, a confused look on his perfect, beatific face.

"As I said," the judge explained smoothly, "there is the matter of my condition." As indeed, he did sport an uncomfortable-looking inflamed bump on the side of his head, which did not do justice to his otherwise immaculate appearance.

The youngest Solidor's eyes widened in alarm, seeing how incredibly, as it must be---his swollen predicament.

Turning to Vayne, "Is something amiss, brother?" Larsa asked, innocent in the tone and quite mature, "you look positively undone. Have you quarrel with Gabranth?" the young Lord seemed to take to the younger Judge, out of all the Judges, especially since Drace had inconveniently passed away---a knowledge that kept even Young Larsa in the dark about the truth.

He reached up to Magister's arm, laid a small, tender hand there as if to assure him, "whatever it is Judge Gabranth has done, lay the blame on me, as he is invaluable, brother, and I shall not have you punish him."

Gabranth nodded to the youngest Solidor, acknowledging his presence, was infinitely pleased to see him, his gloved fingers curled around his helm for support. And if custom allowed it, he would have kissed the young Lord Larsa on the cheek for saving him from a most uncomfortable moment with Vayne. But be that as it may—he was not known for such open affection, however much—his mind envisioned such things.

That was another problem. He has been prone, lately to vivid images since the nightmare—and if he dug deeper, it was perhaps – in part of the Princess's predicament.

Such a princely gesture, the Judge thought, amusingly, and the small smirk almost emerged.

Vayne's vein died down, much to the Judge's continued discomfort, keeping his expression clear, for that was what Judge's do, in part—was to keep expression minimal—never allow your enemy to know. With that random thought, Gabranth was taken aback at the reasoning that he considered Lord Gramis's peregrine son as the enemy. He had always been on the side of Archadia, no matter the cost.

"Apologies, Gabranth," Vayne nodded once, his eyes strayed to his small brother, "Lord Larsa has, again brought me to my senses." He strolled by Gabranth, walking idly by Larsa, bringing his ringed hand over the dark head, "Brother, again, you are as you should be, now, the matter between Gabranth and I—is, a rather private matter."

Larsa looked up to his brother, his slight chubby fingers released the Judge's arm, "I see. Then it is not something that concerns the Empire, or---?" Innocent eyes stared back from the two older men.

"Nay, not at all, I was merely having a….what do they call it? A bad day." Vayne smiled demurely, "fret not, Larsa, it shall not happen again."

"And what of Judge Gabranth's condition?" Larsa motioned to the swelling bump, "Have you been attended to?"

"Uh, not yet," the Judge replied kindly, "but I thank you for your concern."

Vayne interrupted, "Get it attended quickly, Gabranth. I shall not have one of my Judges falling unconscious during duty, as it is extremely that your health is in top condition."

"Immediately," Gabranth almost turned to leave, but Vayne stopped him.

"Not yet! Until the matter between us is resolved, I'll have the best medical practitioner take a look," the eldest Solidor looked at his brother, indicating for his exit.

Larsa said no more, bowed and departed.

"My brother likes you very much, Gabranth, such a guiltless child." He turned to the Judge again, facing him, continued slow-pacing around him, assessing, avaricious eyes looking from toe to pausing slightly at the large bump, "Now, the matter of which Lady Ashelia B'Nargin decided to flee without alarms going off, is another fascinating affair." He had his fingers tapping his chin, his other hand supporting his elbow, "do you suppose the Princess is that sure-footed and possesses invisibility?"

"The men have taken their duties at another post, and will return shortly, however, there are still men guarding the barracks and the perimeter of the palace."

Indeed, it was not so long ago, that he himself had given the order to send soldiers to attend to another station, leaving the princess at least an hour to whisk silently away. And he was sure, that she would make haste.

Vayne leaned in, his fingers cradling the Judge's armoured shoulder, whispering close, "Be sure, Gabranth that you find the Princess, because I will make sure that you—you alone are to procure the Dalmascan run-away. You may take a small army with you if you like, if that is needed." lips close to the Judge's ear, "No one will ever believe that the Princess lives, as there is still the matter that her death was supposed to be sealed two years ago."

Gabranth's head reeled, closed his eyes momentarily from the oncoming dizziness, "I understand."

"But, there is the other unpredictable matter, which has come to my unwanted attention. A rather displeasing turn of events, of a prisoner that has escaped from Nalbina Dungeon—a prisoner that you—Gabranth was in charge of."

"Worry not; I shall take care of both. And, he shall be destroyed."

Vayne was pleased, as his fingers uncurled from the Judge's shoulder, "I find myself moved by your passions." Then he chuckled, "go, Gabranth, and pursue the princess. Return to me, please me, and show your gratitude. Show me why my father deemed you his pet favourite."

**Chapter 3: Part IV, Ashelia:**

She has used up the remaining sprint reserves out of this chocobo, her legs tightly pressed against the feathered flanks, and every now and then, dug her spurs slightly to get a squack out of the chocobo. "It's just that I am in a hurry!" Ashelia told the beast, as if to placate the wary large pair of eyes on either side, squacking out of his beak, his large yellow hide rigorously moving to and fro towards from the oncoming terrain, and the various fiends that occupied the territory. Ashelia had to be, if not reluctantly thankful that she was given a very quick and sure-footed animal. She even took the moment to bask in the scenery for once, after a strenous few hour's worth of riding the foothills, past the perimeter of the palace, taking a route, which Gabranth had given her---to ride through Sochen Caves, and though this direction gave her cause to worry!For Chocobos were not supposed to enter, this particular beast, he assured her was special.

Special in that, he was a slight smaller than his siblings, a little discolouring on his yellow feathers, and he squacked unlike a chocobo. He smelled funny too, which made Ashelia wrinkle her nose more than once. Allowing herself a slight break, the winds of the Tchita Uplands were breezy and the oncoming dark clouds warned of light rain, for there was still the light coming through from the white puffy clouds, and in the distance, she heard, something unfamiliar.

There was a dark shadow approaching of, what looked to be--- she covered the top of her eyes with her free hand, staring up at the looming shadow. Her eyes widened at the sight.

An Archadian Airship! She was even more agitated as her eyes nearly glared, brows furrowing as Gabranth's visage became clear to her, "Judge Gabranth!!" her jaw tightened, "I cannot--!" She sputtered as his small-crafted air ship with the propellers nearly sent even the distanced fiends running the other way, "What in blazes? Are you here to take up that challenge already?!"

"Indeed, Lady Ashe," he said, breathless, as his air ship slightly hovered above her chocobo, causing her to hold the stirrups tightly for the animal became agitated, bird-feet paced back and forth quickly, "I brought us swords."

He was mad! Ashelia's round eyes fastened on him, "I'm ready then!"

"Actually, I came because, I'm supposed to take you back," Gabranth sighed, saw the look of rebellion in her eyes, "But I won't."

"Then why are you here?" She eyed the sword he carried, "Oh. Where's mine?"

He could have sworn that her voice and reaction was more than greedy when she asked for her blade. Without the restrictions of the Empire, she was fearlessly glaring at him with the promise of a challenge.

"I thought we could come up with another plan." he tried to distract her from the impending battle.

"Judge Gabranth," She said softly, a deadly tone to her otherwise measured voice, "Give me my sword, and come here."

He swallowed, "As your majesty wills it," Gabranth nodded, mesmerised, because if there was one thing Lady Ashelia B'Nargin attached her mind to something--she usually went through with it, no matter the cost.

He took one look at the sky, small droplets started to fall, damping the plush green patched ground, and the marlboros from afar were still inching away from the hovering airship.

"In the rain?"

"Don't tell me, a little rain hurts your appearance? You're already looking ridiculously comical with that large bump I gifted you with," she allowed herself a laugh, placing her free hand over her lips as if to give the impression that she was still very demure and princess-like. Nothing was far from the truth right now, he thought unamused.

Gabranth's expression soured, frowned with a grunt reply, "you_ truly_ are a witch, and I believe you mean to do more than harm to me, Daughter of Dalmasca."

* * *


	4. Chapter 4: The Curse of Sochen Cave

**The Curse of Sochen Cave**

Gabranth clenched his jaw, annoyed at her foolishness, " Princess, get in the hovercraft." He even tried to extend his hand, the small airship whirled silently as the propellers seem to whisk like a thousand steady blades, all secured within the steel and double-glass; the air sucking in and out, and she stared up at him. The chocobo shook its head, spilling small tiny droplets against the steady downpour, moving his flapping wings beside her legs.

Her reply was a determined shake of her head, "To where? I know you aren't going to take me back, but I'm not going to allow you to take me anywhere else."

"I realise you don't trust me, but this really isn't up for negotiation. Your disappearance is what I'm interested in."

"I would have allowed the matter to drop entirely," she swished her leg over to one side, sliding herself down the feathery yellow flanked wing of the bird, until her feet reached the wet ground, mud and grass painting the edges of her imperial shoes.

She even took a moment to place her hand over the chocobo, as if to tell the bird to stand by until she needed him, smoothing a long stroke over its hide. The bird squawked noisily, moving off to the side of the hill, taking this moment to enjoy the sodden fare of Tchita Upland's wild growing weeds.

"But you have not agreed to our terms, have you?" She sent him her usual irritated glower, her hand extended; "now if you don't mind, I'd like to have my sword, so that this fight between us may be fair. You're a man of judgment and of the law, upholding the commandment to its full maximum correct? I don't intend to follow you anywhere, nor is there any room for us to do any negotiating."

He paused a moment, looked at her condition in the pouring rain, the sun piercing through the swirling grey clouds like a white ray of lightning, haloing the ground where she stood, and if he were a sort of man that believed in the gods, he would have thought this—perhaps too much as a very bad sign.

"Just a moment." Gabranth moved into the small hovercraft, dipped his head down to push a few levers down, until the noise of the ship stopped completely.

When the ship set down, sunk its feet in the ground, the Judge walked out of the small open doorway, his double sword by his side, and another sword—hers—clasp in his other grip.

"You have more sense than I believe you possess." Ashelia lifted her chin, "permit me to say all the things I've longed to say, to you," her lower lip trembled, the rain wetting her cheeks, light hair darkened by the shower, plastering the sides of her face, wet locks curling against her cheek.

"I-," she opened her mouth, then, but the noise of a boy's voice interrupted them.

"PARDON ME!"

They both looked over to see a bright-haired youth waving his hand, an umbrella over his head to keep him dry, "You two look like you could help me!"

The boy rushed up the hill, his hand gripping the big black umbrella, and holding a piece of tattered parchment, "I would like to hire you two!"

"Hire?" Gabranth rolled his eyes, "I'm afraid that this isn't—,"

"Let him speak." Ashe interrupted him, her hand up, voice calmed considerably to a gentler tone as she addressed the boy, "we're in the middle of something, but if you're in trouble?"

"I've got a couple of men hired but they're not worth their salt, if you know what I mean," the boy's accent was very much Archades, and he stood looking at the Judge and Ashelia, assessing, "however, you both look like you're up to it, in fact, it's a hunt, that I'd be willing to give you something in return once you've managed to take care of some undesirables within that cave there."

He pointed in the distance a darkened opening, where there were swishing snakes wiggling by its entrance, "you go in deeper, past a few enemies that you'll no doubt find quite easy to vanquish—as I see you've got weapons, and when you enter further, there's enemies, that are, well, you'll know when you meet them."

"Quite a lucid proposition," Gabranth smirked, "I doubt that anything you own would be of any benefit to us, and no matter the price, I'm not interested."

Ashelia snapped her head up, "I am."

Gabranth heaved a sigh, "Of course, anything opposite of what I'm interested in,"

"Don't be too sure of yourself, Judge, I still have to get back to Dalmasca, and profit right about now, would be very promotional for my cause and my plight."

"If you needed funding I would have—," He offered, regardless.

"I don't need anything more from you." She quarreled back, "I am not especially fond of the charity you've given me—but there was no choice."

Ashelia turned back to the boy, "I will take up the offer, show me where I may find this hunt?"

The boy beamed, "I knew you'd take up the task, all right then, you just go into that cave there, and defeat all the enemies in the way—and inside, there's a secret passageway, that you must enter, lining the hallways."

"I recall seeing some large double doors along the halls as I passed through with my chocobo."

"Then it's settled, I'll see you both only after you've managed the job, as you'll find me somewhere in this area, and if you happen to see my father, he'll know if you vanquished the enemies. He'll pay you your fee. Use this key."

Ashelia took it within her hand, curled fingers cool and wet against the hard object.

The Archadian Wayfarer departed down the hill with a cheerful gait, umbrella the last to disappear. Ashelia walked up to Gabranth, taking her sword, "I can't very well fight them without weapons."

So, he couldn't help himself, because he thought her a royal pain in the witch's behind, "don't you possess magicks?"

She ignored him as she walked determinedly past, "I need my energy to get through this, but I still have words with you, Judge."

He watched her departing back, watched as she took a striking blow against the oncoming tailspin of Tchita's basilisks, slamming hard enough that the creature was sent back. But he saw that there were others approaching her—she couldn't possibly take care of all---

He clenched his jaw, looked from his airship, idly parked and the steady downpour has lightened, the sound of the dragon's wings from the distance forthcoming.

Gabranth only wanted to find a plan, to get him out of this quandary, perhaps go back to Vayne and inform him that she has gotten herself into a heat of trouble—perhaps lost within the fold of an enemy's belly, eaten whole and rid of.

And he couldn't watch anymore, but remained fixed---as she was being struck down by another basilisk, snapping at the corner of her shoulder as she had already annihilated one, her body falling back from the force, blocking the oncoming attack.

She kicked at the noxious creature as her hands gripped her sword tight, took to swinging at the fiend fully in the face, until it hissed, falling back.

When another basilisk shimmied its way towards her she didn't pause even a breath as she struck at it with teeth grit, emitting a muffled combat cry; a forward striking flash of her blade--dipping low and high until that enemy was vanquished.

She stood, chest heaved from the slight exertion, pleased. Glancing once to Gabranth, and walked within the dark cavernous mouth.

Where did she learn to defend herself so well? He could almost feel a slight tinge of admiration at her efforts, and he knew-- she knew—that he would trail behind. After all, a princess as intelligent and clever as her would know that he needed her, at least for now.

He followed her from a distance, silent watchful observer as she took down an enemy or two, but the imminent winged beasts were not going to be as easy to take down alone as the basilisks outside. Even he offered his blade when she was confronted by three floating winged beasts.

She turned to look at him, her expression blank. Gabranth realized that it was perhaps, too straining for her to accept his help, to accept anything from him. Their continued communication remained tense and silent.

When they reached past the cavern's rocky surface, through a doorway that brought them into a yawning cold hallway, she walked up to a towering double-door, took the key grasped between her fingers and proceeded to open what awaited them.

What awaited them was too horrific to even explain in words.

"Impossible." His words were a mere whisper, as his eyes narrowed, dark blond brows drawing together as his hands grip his double sword.

There, before them, jumping merrily up and down, plastered with open malicious grins, were round two-legged tomatoes, peppered-green vegetables, and pumpkin heads spouting senseless and no doubt malevolent speeches. There were several of them—all charging at once at the duo.

"Mandragoras!" Ashelia warned, "We need to get them one by one, Gabranth." Her hand waving him over, "you get the approaching Prince Mandragoras, I'll get that one there. That wicked-looking creature!"

"The Queen Onion?" He half smirked, finding the situation ludicrous, "suits you."

"Fight, Gabranth!"

But instead of fighting, they were running.

Prince Mandragoras readied his pollen powers, as the little creature flapped its little arms, moving to and fro, chirping deceptive sing-song tunes, but as the yellowish smoke furled out of its body, Gabranth stabbed at it, pushed it so far back by the force that it slammed into another—a tomato-stalk!

That tomato stalk managed to push against its brother and flapped its tiny arms, growling noises coming out of that one. The pollen managed to seep a little into his nostrils, and though he had managed to fight off the effects, what little soaked in made him dizzy, swaying a little, making him feel slightly euphoric. He shook his head to ward off the rest of its potency.

The Judge glanced from the corner of his eye to see a charging Pumpkin Star--orange bright and mouth wide with gnawing vicious fangs, "INCOMING!" Grabbing Ashelia's waist, he rolled her over, as an instinct to guard her.

He felt a violent-yet infinitesimal jabbing; a strident thud against his armoured back, Gabranth's eyes opened to look into Ashe's.

She blinked, pursing her lips, "Humpf!" Annoyed that he even tried to 'save' her.

"Was instinct."

Perhaps, it was their close proximity—saving her from the worst, malevolent attacks, that the Princess's half closed eyes looked sensually dangerous—as if she meant to give him a powerful nudge in the groin with her knee, and if that so-wrong image weren't enough, Gabranth felt the press of her hips against his; he groaned inwardly, annoyed with himself. Was instantly glad to feel Ashe nudging him with her small fist, "They're getting ready to charge!"

They both looked over to see the group of small, terrifying little vegetables, of different colours pouncing up and down, giggling in unison and almost _evilly_.

They avoided the charging first volley of catapults, Gabranth wishing he weren't wearing his bulky armour, loud awkward clanking noises deafening his ear, and by instinct—he watched as the Princess sent the Onion Queen on its back.

Instead of charging, the little creatures with overlarge helmet-armor, backed up and re-formed their group as their little swift leg took them to the other side of the coliseum.

"They're re-grouping, Gabranth! Be on your toes." She screamed out a warning at the opposite end.

The couple began a desperate trot, to and fro, back and forth-swiping, forward slash, backward jump, avoiding incoming catapulting throws, being back-rammed by a sniggering Aruane King, held and pinched their noses against lethal pollen strikes.

While they fought back to back, the Judge and Ashelia watched as they were being surrounded.

"Is this wise?!" Gabranth bit down, sweat forming on his forehead, "perhaps we should try another method?"

"I have Heaven's wrath!" Ashe proclaimed proud, assured of her ability, "do what you please."

Surely, there was his sentence move, but that seemed too much for these creatures. Was this slight underestimation of them wrong to assume? Instead he simply said, "Judgement." Nodding once, looking calm and collected, until Alruane King, reddened purple and ripened, rammed him over the back of his head.

"HEY!" he bellowed in frustration.

Ashelia tripped as she took a swung—the avenging Onion Queen determined to pick on the Princess; Gabranth was quick to reach out--a sentinel impulse to save Lady Ashe-- until he held her against him---their bodies rolled away from the pollen's fumes.

The rest of the creatures ran the other direction, their bodies waggling and swaying back and forth. Ashe had inconveniently landed on top of the Magister, "UH..." Gabranth wordlessly moved his mouth, hands in mid air--pausing, fingers spread out, inches from her waist, as Lady Ashe's body pressed down jerkily, in an effort to avoid a torpedo launching Onion Queen, who remained. Ashe's hands flew over her head, "OW!"

She looked down at Gabranth's shocked expression, "What? They're vicious! Time to get serious!"

"This wasn't serious?" he growled.

* * *

-_to be continued-_


	5. Chapter 5 : Knight In White Satin

_He was Archade's White Knight storming through the Desert's defenses, _

_ripping away each Pawn, _

_the Palatial towers that held her home, _

_and found his way on that charred Chessboard--to her King._

_--Behold! There's My Enemy!_

_

* * *

_

She moved swift, awkwardly sliding out of his grasp--- he reaching out to hold her up; she slapping his hand away as if irritated. He grimly felt the backhand of her rejection at every turn. Gabranth wondered why he wasn't being the man he told himself he'd be---and that sort of man would leave her here, alone to defend herself, while waiting for her collapse—to die alone. He would rid of her once and for all, climbing back into his airship, report back to Vayne, gladly telling him of the unfortunate news of Lady Ashe's inopportune termination...

Instead, she was shouting out orders, told him to distract the small deceitful creatures while she took her fist, gripped it before her chest. A swirling mist of energy sucking in, collapsing around her, the inner power and outlet of what she needed. He supposed that his legs became automatic, running after the creatures, heeding her demands, throwing a long blade—pole distance with two sharp ends at the attacking Pumpkin-star accompanied with the stalking Tomato head in tow.

There was a sound of lightning, drawn from somewhere from above them--he couldn't decide because the air warmed and stilled; sparks flew in every direction—there was a clinging tenor in the air—suffocating, almost as if a storm was fermenting. When he turned to look, Lady Ashe's expression was deep in meditation; head bowed; eyes closed; her balled hand before her—clenched knuckle-white; and there was a giant thread-lined electrical ball enclosing the power she was—in all of Ivalice that was holy—mustering.

Maelstrom's bolt rained down like a white-heat lightning come from the skies that opened up where once the ceiling enclosed them in man's structure of stone, marble, and mortar; there was intense rip there-cracked open like a sliced watermelon, raining down beams of mordant force.

When that energy touched their enemies, it sliced every running-for-headway vegetable head, and they seemed to know—to know that there was trouble brewing. They ran and ran in every direction but found no where to go, squealing desperate high-pitched cries.

Gabranth almost felt sorry for them.

One by one, their enemies fell like dying weeds amongst the wake of the storm, and he could see their lifeless bodies, without substance, nearly invisible—lift lazily up into that open charcoaled fracture in the ceiling—the way to their grave in the distant ethereal sky.

It was over.

He allowed himself to straighten, relaxing almost, turning his head to look at the Princess.

She looked satisfied: her face picture-perfect of wholesome serenity. It was a pleasant sight to look at, until her eyes fastened on him—and her countenance began to stiffen, facial features hardened, the thin line of her lips making her look sour and displeased.

He supposed it was something—to cause the princess every type of discomfort when he was around, and if anything, this was something he could have used against her. Gabranth snapped his double sword, until it became two, and disposed it cleanly away.

They were silent once again in the wake of the destruction. She turned away and headed out the direction where she came from. He followed reluctantly, looking around at the falling debris. How much of a quickening did the woman possess?

Ashelia took no time at all to find the boy somewhere along the hills of Tchita Uplands. Finding the sun much too bright for their eyes when they emerged from that Sochen cave, Gabranth was wont to lift his hand over his eyes, squinting from the lack of cloud and cover. He felt the trickle of sweat along his brow, wiped it away clean with this gloveless hand, blew an errant breath through his lips. Felt the continued discomfort of wet heat along his neck. Reaching up to release his collar, loosening the clips that held his discomforting armour--it was time to place the bulky wear in his small airship.

The rain has stopped and the sun warmed the ground like a caress of a mother's hand, where even the sprouting of new beasts began to materialize. His blue-grey eyes narrowed against the oncoming white-washed heat and brightness that covered the sky and ground, and once—he glimpsed a bit of pink, a bit of flesh as Ashelia leaned down to capture a remaining credit left from one of the basilisks she had destroyed earlier. When his eyes adjusted to the light—she slightly turned to gaze at him. Not an expression changed-- hardened eyes, gentle face, the turn of her lips upside-down. Her hand reached to where her thick belt was, and he noticed long ago—that it was thicker even than her excessively petite skirt.

Her fingers pinched the bit of credit and dissolved into the pocket of pink, and his eyes roamed downward; past the curve of her back--to where her round buttocks shaped her---he cleared his throat, coughed and turned away.

She must have caught his wayward glance, for her steely cool voice chided him.

"You stare at me over-long, Judge Gabranth."

"Not at all. My eyes were purely regulating to the change of weather, Lady Ashe."

She saw that he was taking off the upper smooth-bronzely-hued armoured piece that attached along his arm, his gloveless hand reaching to the side of his shoulder, the sound of metal, steel undone, revealing his chest---gripping each compartment between his fingers. Ashelia watched his hands, the way they caressed over his gear, clasping them together until he could take them, to the direction of his ship. Wearing a pair of dark-coloured shorts, was also left with a thin-layered short-sleeved undershirt, almost too tight-it seemed to her—the way they wore the breadth of his shoulders, the toned and muscled chest & arms. She grit her teeth, recalled that his body, along with that face—without the scars—was Basch's.

He caught her eyes then, "I suppose you take enjoyment at a soldier's disposal of his gear?"

"Not at all." She sniffed, annoyed, "I would have suggested you take that Judge's uniform long ago, for if you plan on following me all the way to Dalmasca, you'll find the weather much too hot for your Archade's blood."

Gabranth managed a slight derisive grunt, sensuous mouth lifted, his eyes tending to his gear, "On the contrary, Lady Ashe, I am not unused to your little country's climate."

Her eyes narrowed, nodding slow as if the knowledge dawned clearly, "Ah that's right. You're part of Archade's activities, which are shrouded, as I've heard-- in secrecy, is that right?" Her lips turned into a sneer, white teeth showing, "Tell me, Gabranth, what is so secret that your beloved country would hide from such a country as small as mine?"

"I would never kiss and tell." He half smirked, "Perhaps, someday I'll tell you, if you're pleasant enough."

"If I were a naive sort of girl, I'd believe you. However, I know your history."

He slid his eyes away from that, the dark cloud of the past tugging at his heart, "I doubt that." his whisper was barely heard, then he returned to stare into her eyes, "and I doubt you'd ever become pleasant company."

"A reminder that I bear you every ill-will you deserve." And she bit her lip, as if she wanted to take those words back. Her brow furrowed, and her hand reached up to touch her lips, an expression of hauntedness that he could even understand.

He wished he could feel, something for her plight, but was his heart so hardened that he could not even give a moment of comfort to a Princess whose country was taken from her--enslaved like some kind of concubine at the last, unbearable last straw--as if a death sentence would not be enough for her-- so she may lie with a man who took the blade and slid it through her father's heart.

Aye, he could understand her plight, but that time--was a time of war--and decisions were set down by law, and that banner in the sky over the world of Nethicite-rich Ivalice was made pure by Lord Gramis's decree. He was Archade's White Knight storming through the desert's defenses, ripping away each pawn, the palatial towers that held her home, and found his way on that charred chessboard--_to her King._

Gabranth gave a disbelieving kind of chuckle, turning away from her. He reached his airship, while she searched for her chocobo, who had strangely disappeared. She saw from a distance a lone Blue Crystal glinting, as it turned. She saw hume-looking individuals standing there, and was immediately reminded of her payment.

"I'm about to collect our fee." She simply told him as she strolled down the hilly, damp walkway.

He followed, like some kind of loyal and devoted hound, tracing after her footsteps, confronting the wayfarer and his father. She gave them evidence, a piece of tuft from one of the Prince's helmet-head, and a bright orange tail from a Pumpkin-star.

"I knew you would be up to the task!" the boy replied with a smug note in his voice, "here is your reward, now mind you, this is what the normal asking price is for Archade's standards, so don't ask for more."

Ashelia took it with a gentle smile, thanking them. When she approached before the Judge, her balled hand opened, palm exposed to show the bills there—her stony look stanch.

"Take your half; you've earned it, Judge Gabranth."

"Generous," he replied smoothly, "I'm not interested; you may keep all of it."

"What? As much as I despise you, you did assist." She moved her lips a little, her eyes straying away from his, "now take it, or else I'll feel obliged that you're giving me charity again."

He clenched his teeth, closing his eyes momentarily, breathed deep, "All right."

There was no more argument about this, because she would be too stubborn to take what was rightfully his half, and as he reached for half of his credits, he whispered, "you know, you should take more than half, since you did all the vanquishing. I merely distracted them."

She sent him an open glare, "Hmm, I'll consider it."

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	6. Chapter 6 : Feeding Lady Ashe

_A/N: okay, if you readers noticed, I kept all the chapters so far in past tense. I'll probably re-do the first chapter when I'm done with this series. If you guys enjoyed it so far, let me know. Thanks for reading!_

_**Chapter 6: Feeding the Lady Ashe.**_

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Ashelia coughed, covering her mouth with her closed hand, and though the sun warmed their skins, he was sure that her constitution may need sleep or other sustenance. He had to admit, there was worry in his heart when he thought that she might catch a cold from the previous downpour, soaking her completely. He was used to the rains himself—being brought up in Landis where storms were abundant to feed their fields; his constitution he knew was sturdier than most. This concern worried him. Part of it, he believed was because a sick princess would be bad enough to bear company with.

"Have you eaten?" He inquired, for surely as soon as he would have suggested it, there would be a snapping reply from her lips.

Instead, she shook her head, eyes downcast, clearing her throat, "I haven't eaten in awhile."

"You'll disappear if you don't put meat into your bones, Lady Ashe," saw the look of puzzlement between her brows, and continued, "you're hardly too thin, but the winds of Tchita Uplands will send unnatural storms—storms caused by much fearful beasts that you and I have never seen—and may just take you along with it."

Gabranth allowed himself a hinted smile, and Ashe shyly looked away, almost annoyed, a thin line graced her lips again.

Ignoring her censure, he said low, "These beasts usually come out during a peculiar climate change. This, I have heard. I suggest we take my aircraft and go somewhere," then he saw the flare of her eyes. "To eat..." he nodded, adding," of course. Nothing more."

"Some seedy place you Archades soldiers know to go?" She leaned her head to one side, eyes bright with mischief.

"Lady Ashe, I'm afraid you caught me, as I haunt areas of Archades that your royal-highness should never step into."

"Was that another joke?"

He was about to turn away from her but caught himself staring into her light eyes, searching for more wayward inquiry, "Nay, not really. I meant that."

"But you will not take me to these places?"

He didn't question why she wanted to see these undesirable spots, but knowing her desire for anything that pertained to Archades, finding something to pit against the Empire, surely that was information tucked away at her own leisurely disposal. He had always known she was shrewd, but how careful was she?

"Your highness shall go wherever she pleases, except back to Archades."

"I desire nothing more but to go back to my kingdom, I have much to see, and what I've managed to earn so far, is not enough." She held the credits in her palm, "no one was to know of my existence until Vayne's Imperial soldiers captured me, realized, much to your Empire's plan to covertly keep me dead, that I was indeed very much alive and well. However, I am very sure that the entire affair of my disappearance was completely their deceptive arrangement. Dealing with me however, would prove a little more difficult. I was perhaps, much of a blight."

"So the most convenient way to rid of you was through me?"

"Why ever not? You have inexorably taken my father's life, stolen my country's liege by your Empire's demand; Dalmasca's throne was the pulse that would have sealed a peace treaty with Archades. However, that was not ever the plan was it?" Ashelia bold look was devoid of loathing—something he was not expecting. Replaced was a look he has seen before—the haunted grief that must have consumed her.

He looked down at her frail-looking face, "Let us go, away from here. We can discuss this at length over a meal I shall take you to."

"With reputable citizens?" She followed after him, too hungry to care; but he knew that at this point, she could trust him; she called after him: "I would not take funding from you, Gabranth, as I've told you, but I wish to go somewhere afterward."

"Reputable or not, Lady Ashe. I would think that with what little you own, you can't afford the price of a better meal anywhere else, but save your own palace—which I may remind you are filled with soldiers from Archades."

"How I know this." She whispered.

"Where I'm taking you, is somewhere a little less safe, but no one talks or slips out of line there, if for some reason I or you are recognized."

She understood. He knew she would, because she was much too proud to take anything more from him and what she had earned was more than enough to feed her.

He would have thought that her continued disgust of him would last, but perhaps the day's hunt was taxing, too taxing even for her to accumulate odium for his presence, even for a moment.

It was small in his hovercraft; because this one was the one he used for covert operations to and fro Dalmasca and Archades. Larger ships took up too much fuel and space. She found the compartmental room too small even for her, but she indeed liked to look out the window, a far-away distant gaze to the world of Ivalice.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" He said, behind her. She was much too close to him, and her body stiffened at the near contact, and he wondered why—they had already been in much, much worse situations. The memory served to even annoy him.

"Yes, it's beautiful. Dalmasca is over there, where the dense of blue-white clouds hover thickly, as if possessive of its territory." Her whisper held of nostalgia and gentleness.

Gabranth could understand--she loved her Dalmasca, as much as he had loved his Landis.

When they touched down, finally leaving the hovercraft parked safely, they reached the tavern: it was hidden under an alcove of thick moss-green vines clinging onto the structure like a tattooed decoration; the establishment was small, but there were bangaas and seeqs standing outside, almost blocking the way. They had turned to look at the tall muscular blond hume with the stern expression and to the small figure of a hume-female.

To Gabranth, he knew that, despite their seedier looks, they feared his presence. The seeq's reddened pupils eyed the hume-female, "Pretty pretty companion, Judge, I didn't think you'd be taking a female so delicate to this place." The hefty sized seeq bellowed, its snout making loud snorting noises as he laughed, slapping Gabranth's shoulder in a friendly manner, "It's about time you get yourself a woman to warm yer bed. Hehe. I was thinking of having meself a pretty viera, which I met last week, and- "

Gabranth held up his hand, "Enough, Ardeld, I've brought her only so we may dine, in peace."

He stressed the last word, and the seeq nervously laughed, backing a little away; his large blackened fingertips holding up, "nay nay nothing to worry your judge self over me. I'll be quiet as a rat in the water's way."

Ashelia looked over, and stepped into the open doorway, and Gabranth held his palm against her back, to accompany her. He knew the smell here would offend her—as the establishment was filled with the odor of thick cheap wine, ale spilled over the bar, and the burnt hide of sea fare hunted down from Phon Coast.

"A friend of yours?" she asked, not a trace of unkindness in her tone.

"Not really. He just likes to talk your ear off if you'd let him." He steered her past the nudge of other seeqs, and they parted to let them through, "but he's harmless, and despite that he is talkative, he is too fearful to babble anything that concerns me."

"Quite the bully you are." She said, this time with rapier intention.

"Aye, I am," he agreed, sarcastically.

"So this is the squalid tavern you mentioned?" Ashelia looked at him, hesitant.

"Are you displeased? Would your highness prefer something else? I could," he leaned down, as if to murmur, for the room was noisy with guffaws and merry off-tune singing, along with lazy chattering groups in tables nearby, "get something to go, and we'll dine at my ship."

He received a laugh for that, and Gabranth was almost pleased at the pleasant sound.

"Judge Gabranth, you are full of ridiculous plans. Your ship is much too small," she huffed with a half chuckle, "I would end up sitting on your lap."

He raised a fine dark blond brow at the not so very uncomfortable image, his hand still at the small of her back, "under different circumstances I would not overly mind."

She sent him a shocked stare, "Get me something to eat, before I find myself saying foolish things to you."

"With haste, Lady Ashe."

"And that does not mean that because I'm slightly overwhelmed by my lack of consumption, and the fact that I had nearly used up the remaining energy to wipe those tiny fiends clean away—that you can make fun of me."

He guided her to a table by the partly open window, which was not much since the outside showed a less than respectable passageway, bearing drunken citizens passing and other establishments too near.

But it was a sight better than being close to the noisy crowd.

Ashelia sat herself down at the chair, looking at the round chipped table, with a melted candle in the middle. The wax was already dripping off the edge of the partially broken plate in which it sat upon, and she was wont to blow the flickering flame out.

"Stay here, I'll be back with…" he paused, "Forgive me, what would you like?"

"What do they have?"

He inhaled, teeth partially grit, his eyes gazing at the menu board which had letterings and pictures of beverages and the fare they served.

"Do you trust me?"

Ashelia glared at him, her unusually almost pleasant mood disappearing, "Not really, and under any other circumstance I would not accept anything from you." She held out her partial payment from the hunt, "here, take what you need."

"The owner knows me; you'll get this one free."

She was about to say something, but bit her lip. He wagered it was going to be, something very nasty about him.

"Lady Ashe, you've nothing to fear from me, I'm the one risking my position as Magister to set you free," and so he reminded her and her expression gentled. In fact, he had to admit, he liked it when her facial features softened. It was a sight better than her fury.

When he reached the bar, the tavern owner was a burly hume with a shiny hairless head, his bulky arms looked more fat than muscle. When he saw Gabranth, he leaned over, "Judge, judge, I haven't anything new to report, but," he lowered his gravelly voice, "What a tasty looking companion you have brought. You never bring anyone in here, save for your soldiers. Someone from Archades? Looks very classy."

The Judge Magister was not offended that the tavern owner was so open about this, as he was one of his contacts, as ear to the ground- to assist him where he could not be the eyes in every district.

"Never mind that, Fibes, she's just someone I need to take care of."

The burly hume made a sloppy gesture of zipping his thick mouth, nodding his shiny head as if he understood clearly, "mum's the word for me. You can count on me Judge, count on me, so what will you want today for the pretty miss?"

"Give me what I normally order."

Fibes the tavern owner raised both his bushy eyebrows, "Fine, fine, the lady wants to eat for two; she looks like she hardly eats, well…" Fibes leaned over a little, his eyes narrowed as if focusing on something over at Ashelia, "what a fine shapely ---."

Gabranth glared at him, quickly stopping the next flow of words from the tavern owner's mouth, "we're in a hurry."

He returned to the Princess, and found her idly staring out the partial window into the alleyway, the slight breeze blowing in. Her hand cradled her chin, profile pale and golden from the flickering flame's glow, reminding him how young she really was. She was so mature, even more so than the hume females he was sometimes annoyed at in Archades, who sought for his company.

Her eyes turned to his, the stone-cool grey he also recalled, "What have you ordered," she asked quietly.

"Patience, princess, patience," he chuckled, half smirking.

"Last time you said that," her gaze flew to his head, "I was wishing to land you another blow to your head."

He had forgotten about his swollen bump, and started to reach for it. But she was already reaching before him---her fingers centimeters away, "it looks like it's been healing, the swelling's gone down. Lucky you."

"Aye," Gabranth said quietly, perplexed; his hand clasped together on the table, "lucky me."

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	7. Chapter 7: Getting to Know You

**Chapter 7: Madness between the gods; Vayne & Dr. Cid:**

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"Hmmm," the eldest Solidor was not pleased, as he received no word from Gabranth, and he supposed he would have to wait until the loyal hound returned home to where he received generosity; as a faithful part of the Empire, this was his place.

And he supposed that having him succumb to the Princess was not such a bad idea. She was after all, not unpleasant to look at. The Judge Magister proved too useful to him, and his father needed Gabranth's steely strength and visage to storm the palace to place deception where it needed to be. Ah, that was a time of glory, and he could almost taste the sweetness on his lips, until Dr. Cid interrupted him.

The mad Doctor was again discussing something with his invisible Venat, then turned to him, "Lord Vayne, I heard that the princess has escaped, has all gone according to plan?"

Vayne nodded, "Aye, indeed it has. Judge Gabranth is on his way to retrieve the Princess. I believe he has already spent some time in her company."

Dr. Cid's booming laugh was cheerful, "Good good, what do you think he will intend? Do you believe that he'll return the princess and go through with your disastrous and archaic plan?"

"A plan I believe was something your Venat suggested, and quite readily more genius than I had first assumed. The suggestion had merit, however outrageous it was."

"Yes, well," Dr. Cid harumped, adjusting his eye-glass, "Gabranth has done much for the Empire, we must place our good trust into him. He has after all, done many things in return."

"Is this favour over the Judge all of a sudden, Dr. Cid?"

"Gabranth is invaluable, you must admit."

"A fact that you and young Larsa share; not to mention, my late departed father held the same belief. Yet, the Empire has given him much, and Lord Gramis seemed to deem Gabranth much like a son." Vayne mused, his dark eyes narrowed with a kind of irritation, "And what of you? What find you the situation? Will the proud Ashelia B'Nargin of Dalmasca fall helplessly in amity over the Judge after spending quite some time with him? Or will she find revenge and slit his throat in the middle of the night?"

"Ah-a, Lord Vayne, let us not niche Ashelia B'Nargin into the revengeful hell-hath no fury than a woman scorned category. She is vulnerable, to be sure. However, that vulnerability –-will it assure her the place in which her revenge will catapult into a series of waiting dark espers to her beck and call, guiding us to the shard's existence?"

"The shards are nothing." Vayne sneered, "We have other means that provide much more strength than Dalmasca's useless stones."

He turned to the Dr, "But if for some bizarre perception that Gabranth actually finds his way into her bed."

"A fact that too, is impossible. Knowing how proud she is, and how much she despises him. And I find that the young Judge is not so happy about the affair as well. It is not a match made in Ivalice, to be sure."

But Vayne seemed not to listen, his voice monotone, "We would be able to use her child to wield Dalmasca and bring the people to love that child, after of course, our influence over the course of the childhood." Vayne's eyes were concentrated, focused into a kind of dark void where even Dr. Cid thought the mechanisms that were running into his mind was ticking.

"We could thank Venat for such an idea." Dr. Cid leaned in, listening to the invisible mist, "Ah, yes, you only suggested, it was not really a wholly formed idea." He cleared his throat, "Yes, well, I see. Well, Lord Vayne, Venat thinks that this plan is a little crazier than the usual."

Vayne stared up at the old man, a stupefied expression on his face, perhaps thinking that he was madder today than all the days combined, "Who's mad again?"

"Well, we were only suggesting that she pursue her way to the ancient ruins and places where we would not know exist, or find her ancestor's shards and suggest to her that revenge was the way to leading with an iron fist." Dr. Cid added, "Not to have her father's slayer give her a child. But that, I have to admit is a delicious most terrible reprisal on the poor Lady Ashe."

"She is unworthy to lead a country," Vayne grumbled, dissatisfied, "if the people of Dalmasca refuse me and my brother Lord Larsa, we shall give them Lady Ashe's heir."

"Would not the people of Dalmasca question about the father's lineage?"

Vayne shrugged, moving his dark wavy hair on the side, his resplendent suit sparkled of satin and embroidered gold, "all they have to know is that it is from the late Lord Rasler."

"Would not the practitioners find a way to determine the child's blood?"

"We're already talking as if Gabranth and Lady Ashe have already consummated."

Dr. Cid blinked; his eyes remained fixed with surprise and puzzlement, nodding slow and realizing the idea was preposterous, "Hmmm true. But you started it."

"Besides, think, Nabreus and Nalbina would be restored and the people will love the child as if the dead Prince himself has provided the Princess with their last hope. After all, Lord Rasler was the last of his line."

"And the Princess is the last of her line."

"Not unless she complies like a good Princess should."

"Ashelia B'Nargin of Dalmasca, a good princess?" Dr. Cid moved his mouth, smacked his lips as if weighing the idea, "I would think she would rather skewer young Gabranth through with a tournesoul's jagged blade."

"We shall see, Dr. Cid. We shall see."

"I want to place bets." The old man proudly shouted, snapping his white gloved fingers, "How about a new laboratory for me."

"You already have a good one."

"Bah. Too many spies in there; I can't trust anyone! I want new employees."

"Your demands are too much. There are no spies! You're acting quite paranoid and delusional again. And what would I get in return? I'm the ruler here now."

Dr Cid paused, placing his hand over his chin, rubbing it raw over the grey white beard, "this is quite unfair! I still want a bet."

Vayne rolled his eyes, placed his hand over his forehead, shaking his head. He sighed, "all right. I want..."

Dr. Cid leaned in, his hand over his ear, "Yes? Louder."

Vayne whispered his bet into the old man's ear.

"Ohhh, kinky." Dr. Cid said, puckered his lips, one eye snapped open causing his eye-glass, which was already at the edge of his nose, looking far down at Vayne, to fall.

**Ashelia and Gabranth at the Tavern: **

They were interrupted by a bizarre display of tom-foolery, as the heavily sized seeqs stood upon the platform which would usually hold a small set of musicians and perhaps provide entertainment. They slung their blackened arms over each other and one of them held a tambourine-ringed with bells, singing something very low-pitched and merrily getting drunk.

Ashelia was looking uneasily, perhaps glad that they were a distance away from the noisy crowd, and having to sit near the partially open window was less suffocating. She noted that there was also a large potted plant that obscured much of her, which she assumed Gabranth took in consideration to their sitting arrangement, "you actually visit this place to eat, Judge?"

"Not often. I usually take my sup over in Archades, either at the Palace, or where the fare is much more pleasing along the upper-streets of the city; and to where the atmosphere provides more hume-variety."

"We are used to having many in Dalmasca, that is – less hume variety, for our country provides much employment and benefits for anyone of any race to live in."

"I know."

"But that is past now." She whispered, "Still, they are holding up from what I can gather."

"That I do know as well. My soldiers are stationed there."

"Have you had your head injury checked out?" Ashelia asked, seemingly uncomfortable under the subject.

"I had not had any time to check it out; though, Vayne bid me to have a doctor take a look. It's merely a minor thing."

Ashelia seemed to note his nonchalant shrug, "I can't say that I'm sorry, because I'm not. I would have done it again."

Gabranth nodded, was not displeased at her honesty, "In your situation, I probably would have done worse."

"I would have had the opportunity to do more—and perhaps cripple you in the process." She told him boldly.

"Ah I see. Is this how you normally charm your enemies, Lady Ashe?"

"And do you normally just comply with every demand the Empire tells you to do? Tell me, how does your conscience ride you, Judge Gabranth? When you took my father's life."

He took a deep breath, leaned his head a little to the side, "You're determined to set this somewhat truce-pleasant mood into something gloomy."

"I have slapped your brother's face when it should have been yours." She gritted her teeth, grey-blue eyes stony and cold, "I found, through Vossler, a knight of Dalmasca, that he believed your twin had nothing to do with it, and there were many things in the dark that I had not known. Then, was told by my maidservants, the ones attending to me; as maidservants tend to know everything it seems all the gossip that goes on in the household of Solidor and who killed who. Later that the Empire had set an imposter in place to blacken the name of the Captain's; he would have been able to rescue me I believe if something didn't go awry. I- I don't know what happened, but I was imprisoned, taken there and then moved immediately. I don't know how long it was, or how much time had passed. I couldn't know. I was—given food and accommodation but my freedom was gone. Then, I was dressed up like some kind of concubine, against my will to dress up for you. They gave me the details of what I needed to do, what my role was."

"Quite a handful of information for you to take in, especially as you've been led to believe that it was my twin who," Gabranth blinked, cleared his throat, "I'm glad that Vayne Solider told you the truth behind this travesty. And, you knew the terms of what we were supposed to do? I was to give you a child?" he cleared his throat again, feeling discomfort, looked up with some satisfation to be interrupted, as one of the barmaids come by with a cache of Phon Coast wine, blue-berry and grape-enriched with flavours, couple of ceramic oddly styled cups in place next to him and Ashelia's.

"A bastard's child." She seethed, "From my father's slayer." Shaking her head, "That's the most despicable thing; it's worse than rape."

Gabranth flinched at the word rape, "this too is against my will, Princess. I had to do many things against my will."

"Tell me, Judge, was taking that sword and stabbing my father through the heart part of that 'against your will'?" her eyes narrowed, lips thinned.

"That, again, may I remind you, was, in a time of war, Lady Ashe. Should I tell you that I apologize for doing the duties I must do, in the name of the Empire?" He leaned in, "Well, I won't. I won't because I believed in what I did then."

She hissed, "You're a tool for them. You and your face, you're being used and you allow them."

"When Lord Gramis was still alive, I considered him much like a mentor, perhaps, a father, even."

"He was the one who ordered you to take my father's life. He deserved every betrayal from his own son."

"I think that's quite enough, Daughter of Dalmasca. You are filled with much revenge in your heart."

"And you aren't?" She leaned in closer, "now, as civilized humes, you can not look at me and tell me that you did not purposely do these things, knowing that your twin would fall into the hands of the Empire and be hated by the rest of Dalmasca?"

He could not say anything, but bowed his head, staring into the blue-wine moving fluidly in his cup, his fingers pressed against the edges of the pottery, "I have learned much, but when Lord Gramis died, everything…," he choked, "everything became, almost too clear for me."

Taking the cache, he poured the wine for both of them, watching the Princess, "I do not wish this, Lady Ashe. You are the last woman on Ivalice that I would sleep with."

Her brows furrowed as if in confusion, then her eyes snapped up, "and you're the last hume male I would allow touching me."

"Then it's settled." He offered her the filled cup and she took it gracefully, gulping the remains as if thirst consumed her. He drank his, never leaving his eyes from hers, "your personality does not suit my taste, even if you were less than a Princess."

"Your cold disregard for a personality does not suit my taste either, Judge Gabranth.

Gabranth simply stared at her with a closed tight mouth, clenching his teeth, eyes narrowed, "how the fates must be laughing at us."

When the food arrived, it was quite a strange affair, as the overly large hume with even bulk-fat arms carried a big tray offering dried fruits on the side, a platter of what looked like a fat-roasted cockatrice, honey scented and glazed with a olive Phon Coast apple—tiny as a grape-- in its mouth; in the side of that was a bowl of rice, wheatened by the sun and brown sauce over it. Vegetables that looked familiarly like the tomato stalk bunched together in a separate chipped bowl, green parsley haphazardly arranged.

Ashelia's eyes widened in alarm, and her entire countenance seem to manifest from irate Princess to one that has been swayed by food; her face transformed almost in a soft glow,"Oh the gods! I can't possibly--!" she looked at Gabranth, as the bevy of food slammed down hard enough to jar the table, "you are eating with me, correct?"

"Nay, this is all for you, Lady Ashe," he replied smoothly, but there was a glimmer of a smile at the corner of his lips.

"Liar. You so are eating with me." She reached out to grab a utensil set down by the owner's chubby fingers. She waited until the tavern master cheerily waved and offered his hospitality that if they should ever need a place to sleep tonight, together—as so he implied almost naughtily—which however made Ashelia wince, nearly wanting to kick Gabranth's shin underneath the table—allowed her to finally grab the table cloth and wipe the utensils clean.

"Eat up, Lady Ashe. The night is just beginning."

She ignored him as she surveyed what she would take in first, biting her lower lip and felt the noisy rumble of her stomach. Ashelia simply did not care about her manners in front of Gabranth and heartily dug in, chewing her food eagerly. She plopped a cherry tomato into her mouth, and stabbed at another piece of cut barbequed Cockatrice.

"I am not quite used to cockatrice cooked like this. And, I find such birds so sweet-tempered, and quite adorable that I do not have the heart to eat them," she told Gabranth, swallowing, then taking a gulp of her wine.

"And the rabbits of Giza plains, would you eat them?" He inquired, raised a brow, a quirk of a smile at the corner of his lips, "they are cute little things aren't they?"

She stared at him then, saw the wiley expression in his bluish-light gaze, then picked up a parsley and threw it at him, "Mock me not, Gabranth. I'm made of sterner stuff."

He allowed himself to laugh a little, tapping the table with his finger, while his other hand brought the cup of wine to his lips, eyes looking into hers, "that's what I'm afraid of."

* * *

_-to be continued-_


	8. Chapter 8: Too Much, Too little

After the big dinner, she had drunk quite a bit, her words slightly slurring as she took the sixth cup of wine. Leaning back, even in her state of condition, her hands placed over her belly—which to Gabranth seemed very flat for a young female hume who had just consumed part of the meal---and started to rub it fondly.

"Mmm," she grinned, eyes parted, slightly dazed, "I'm so full."

Ashelia leaned forward quickly, stumbling a little, and grabbed the cup, sloshing the blue-berry contents onto the table, "You know what, Judge?"

"What?"

"I despise you." She mumbled, slurring, "I dislike the smell of this place." Her eyes slyly looked around, mouth pouting, "and worse! I hate being this way."

She dropped her head down, her hair obscuring her profile, "I can't stand acting the way I do, always saying nasty retorts at you," she sniffed, "I'm so – tired."

Her head nodded off, limbs weak with no muscle movement, sloppily falling over until the side of her face hit the harsh table.

Gabranth heaved a heavy sigh. Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca could not hold down her wine.

Fibes walked over to grab the remaining plates that were set aside, "Psst, your lady looks like she may need to retire soon."

"You said something about a room?" Gabranth looked at Fibes, seeing the wide grin there and frowned at the owner, "Nay, I'm not taking advantage of the princess, so I'd get your head out of that thought."

"I knew you would be too honourable to do something like that, but if that were me and I had a pretty piece –.." Fibes stopped himself because the glare he received from Gabranth was not very nice.

"Just saying." Fibes shrugged his burly arms, "The room's small with one bed, you'll have to go and bring her to the far end of the hall upstairs. Go ahead, carry her up there, I won't tell." And gave Gabranth one last wink.

Gabranth leaned over, placing his hands over his eyes for a moment, sighing, "This is just great."

He picked up her lifeless body, her head lolled over to the side until she cradled herself against his shoulder, arms flung out. Bringing his hand under her knees and lifting her back up against his chest, he treaded the stairs, passed the leering looks of seeqs and noisy guffaws of bangaas.

When he reached the far end of the room, he kicked open the door, and found that the small bed was set against the window. The tiny chamber held only one night stand with a candle atop, next to it was the bed which was, to him too tiny.

Well, he mused softly, he will have to leave her here while she slept, and come back for her tomorrow morning. He was sure Fibes would be able to watch out for her. When he dropped her body down she murmured something unintelligible.

"What's that, Lady Ashe?"

"Gabranth…"

"Yes, I'm here."

He sat down on the edge, dipping the bed, and her arms flung out, bringing him close.

She whispered against him, "I feel sick."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm going to…"

"Hmm?"

"I am going to –.." She coughed, throwing herself off him and leaned over to the side of the bed, holding her stomach. Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca unleashed most of her dinner onto the floor, decorating it with the contents of her smashed and chewed meal.

Gabranth groaned, rolled his eyes, "Oh gods!"

"Help!" she croaked, still trying to cough up more food, "Gabranth, you bastard."

"Now what?" He sighed, pulling her up, "All right, all right, lay down. I have to clean up your mess."

She groaned; the back of her hand over her forehead-- the sign of sweat shiny on her skin, "that wine, it's disgusting. Something I ate, oh gods, did I get food poisoned?" Her eyes fluttered open and closed, "Gabranth I hold you responsible."

"Aye, I know. I'm the bane of your existence, tell me what else I don't know," Gabranth grumbled irritably, going into the small room which held the toilet and grabbed the ragged towels there. They were small, but at least he could manage to wipe most of the food contents off the floor. He wanted to wrinkle his nose from the offending smell.

"I'm still trying to get over the fact that I'm cleaning after you, Princess. You're high maintenance, as well. Definitely not my type."

She was groaning on the bed, her hand covering her face, "never have I been subjected to such humiliation!"

"It's not that bad, people drink themselves to the point of emptying their stomachs. You're not the first, Princess."

Ashelia managed to sit up groggily, her hair a mess around her face, strands of light-mousy pale hair sticking to her blushing cheeks, "I have never had that happened to me before."

"Trust me, Lady Ashe, it's not so bad." He walked into the toilet room and closed the door, finding himself in front of her again, where she stared up at him with watery eyes.

She fell back onto the bed, "the world is still spinning." moaning, "I knew that drinking could cause this, but I thought since I ate so much."

"Relax, you just need some rest."

She grabbed his arm, "You cannot leave until I am well."

This sounded like an order and he raised his brow, "Oh really?"

"You bastard, how dare you try and leave me, in this establishment, where they poison their customers, alone." She mumbled, her words slightly slurred.

"All right, I'll stay with you, but you must promise me one thing."

"Mmmm." Ashelia half opened eyes were glistening with wet tears, not from sorrow, but from perhaps, through the effects of her unwell state.

"Don't call me bastard."

She gazed at him, a soft look through her fluttering lashes, "I promise."

And she closed her eyes, her hand over the flat of her stomach, and the other over her forehead.

Gabranth sat down, for there was no other chair in the room, and the floor had just been decorated by her disposal. He reached over, opened the window to allow the wind to air the room out.

He waited until she breathed deep, indicating that she was fast asleep. Gabranth reached for the sheet in which she was lying on, pulling it from under her body, so he may place it over her. When he jostled her frame a little, she moaned audibly, her arm flung out, capturing his shirt chest, bunching it up into a fist, "don't leave, please."

She was partly moaning, sleeping, dazedly afraid, and Gabranth felt a tightening in his chest. Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca was so young—a princess who had lost her kingdom, her husband and through him, her father. How could he not feel her trauma? Her aching lonliness? Aye, he knew how that must feel like. But he had steely placed his own heart away, for that was easier for him, as he willed it for years. Whilst she--she was still so fresh to the spoils of a war torn world. He reached up to place a hand over her fist where she clenched it over his shirt.

A lone tear fell out from the corner of her eye, glistening under moonlit night, where the open window allowed some shadow.

"I won't, Daughter of Dalmasca. I'll be here."

Her fist relaxed as if she heard, her lips moved a little, moaning softly.

This was, by far one of the most difficult nights Gabranth would ever face.

* * *

_to be continued-_


	9. Chapter 9 : Even a Hound Must Fight

_She was warm in his arms, her fingers tracing his face, and her lips kissed his jaw, adoringly. He found himself pulling her to him, brought his own lips to hers. "Lady Ashelia,"_

_"Gabranth, shut up and kiss me," she told him, bold and as usual making demands._

He woke with a start, found her body was comfortably next to him, too close—indeed, her arm was flung over, one leg curled around him, but she was not pouting for a kiss. She was sleeping deeply, almost snoring softly.

_Gods! He must have fallen asleep._ Dozing off after an hour or so, when he could not find a place to rest, but to sit by her side, where now he was lying facing the ceiling. Her body felt warm and inviting, and he did want to pull her to him and hold her. Why he wanted to was beyond him, but the dream was frustrating. He had that nightmare not too long ago and now, he wondered each time, when he slept, that his dreams would find her pulling him in for a kiss?

He told her that he wouldn't leave her side, and as difficult as it was in this tiny bed, he could not pretend that the shift of her naked leg was not disturbing, her knee began to move up towards his groin and he grit his teeth. Steadily, he reached to push her knee away, careful not to jostle her body too much. He didn't want her to wake and find her screaming that he was not welcome in this bed. Women were strange. He drew his brows together, wishing to find sleep again. Still fearful of the images that provoked and she switched her head over to cradle in the crook of his shoulder, sighing deep, almost blissful.

He closed his eyes tight, and wished the morning would come, because his body stiffened, feeling suffocated. But he concentrated on her warmth and for once, the only time when she was really pleasant to be with, cradled gently against him. This position between them was indeed strange, and never would have happened if – things had not turned out the way they did.

Gabranth decided to ignore his discomfort, ignored the impulse to throw her arm off, push her leg off, and run out of that door and get another cache of wine. But sleep was finally nagging at him, and his fingers relaxed against hers. He will need to do something about her situation soon. Drop her off Dalmasca, somewhere safe, but he was sure that even an excuse about the Princess dying somewhere along the desert's harsh climate and beasts roaming along the path would not satisfy even the crafty-minded Vayne. He would have to think of another situation, and tomorrow was another day to device a plan. He did not think the princess thought of anything else but to release herself from the situation and run back home. But where was her home? She no longer was invited back into her palace grounds, and he was sure that her somewhere home would include the insurgences that plagued the hidden waterways. Soon, his eyes fluttered closed, and he hoped before nodding off—that he would never get anymore dreams that concerned Lady Ashe.

It was close to morning when the sky from the open window revealed hints of rose-coloured dawn, slightly dark blue that was slowly disappearing, The stream of light coming into the room warmly caressed their sleep positions – the princess was fully on him, her arm hanging off the edge of the bed, the side of her face on his chest, snoring softly, while her other arm was curled up beneath. Her body had instinctively wanted warmth and that conveyance of heat was him.

To top it off, he silently grumbled, irritable with his automatic impulses –he was very hard. His cock was straining against his short-trousers, and her thigh was too close for any kind of comfort. But being in this stiffened condition was not unusual. He was sometimes hard in the mornings; however, while this was commonplace, having a vulnerable half-naked princess atop was not helping much. Whether or not he had any feelings for her—negative or positive, or none at all—he was after just a male with the same pleasure points that every other male species possessed.

His body stiffened at the languid way she moved. At least he had control, than most ---and he could almost pat himself on the back for that. Besides, convincingly, he was not attracted to the princess in any way-- not his type, and certainly---she was not attracted to him. Number one rule that he demanded, was that his partner desired him as much as he desired them back. Gabranth placed that persuasive thought as a measure to this present less than honourable arrangement.

Taking careful to lift her body off him, and wishing to dive out of the room before something else happened; his fingers pried first, the arm that was lying over him, moving slow and easy, while his naked leg, wearing only the pair of shorts he had on yesterday---pushed hers over.

Tightening his lips, he drew his brows together in an effort to concentrate in using a sleuth-silent move ever—and when he thought the success would be well worth the plan, she was mumbling something. He drew a soft inhale, waited until she calmed, and her leg determinedly brought itself back to where his groin was. Gabranth decided that this quiet-as-a-mouse approach was not a fruitful venture, and he simply placed her neatly away from him. Getting up, she moved over to the side of the bed, curling up. He gave a sigh of relief, allowed himself to smile, reaching over to close the window so she may sleep a little longer.

He took the sheet that was crumpled up at the foot of the bed, straightened it and allowed it to fall over Lady Ashe's fetus position. Gabranth would have been nearly out the door if she hadn't moved quickly, plopping herself on her back, stretching, and yawned indelicately. Her eyes looking very sleepy, almost seductive, her body tensed; her blue-wet gaze snapped open.

"Good, you're awake." He replied smoothly, "we should get you a shower, and I'll remind Fibes that the room needs cleaning."

She wrinkled her nose, sitting up, elbow on the bed, her hand on the side of her face, pushing away the light strands, "Oh gods, I did, didn't I? Did I happen to ---?"

"Yes, you did, but you're all right this day?"

"Mmmm, I think so. I do feel better, but all I could remember last night that I felt incredibly sick. I had --," her brows drew together in concern, "was it food poisoning?"

"It could be the fact that you had much to drink, or both—you couldn't take too much. I didn't stop you, I'm sorry, I should have, but I'm always under the impression you are adult enough to do what you want."

"Yes, I am." She confirmed, "other than, that wine was awful. I mean it tasted okay while I was eating, and the food was tasty enough. But I was also extremely hungry."

"Do you want me to prepare you a place for you to take your bath? I have to ask Fibes to get a bath for you in one of the bigger rooms, or if you want, I could take you to the Nebra River, to bathe there."

Lady Ashelia wiped the sleep off the corner of her eyes, blinking, "I don't normally bathe on the river of Nebra, but I've heard that it is commonplace for estersand & westersand travelers." She sent him a grateful smile, "I thank you, Gabranth, I would like a bath in a room if that's possible. I'm afraid I'm not as bold as I thought I would be."

He was surprised at the grateful attitude, and he wondered if there was a hidden agenda to this, but he could see nothing but genuine honesty behind her Dalmasca warm eyes.

"You are in an unusual kind mood towards me, Princess."

She blushed, "I – I want to thank you, because you have been a gentleman to me last night. You stayed with me, without taking liberties and for that I'm surprised, that you did not run out of here, leave me or do worse."

"I'm not wholly a monster, Lady Ashe." He whispered.

Her lips thinned, "In some ways you are, Gabranth, but I will give thanks for where thanks are due. I have come to the conclusion that I do need you for now, and I know that you need me as well. We have to work together, despite my earlier disgust of your presence, this changes nothing between us."

"Naturally," he bowed, "Now I'll go get you your bath, your highness." He emphasized the title, as if to be sarcastic. He couldn't help it—there were just some nuances he found irritating from her, especially when she became frosty and presented a regal air. It came, he presumed—part of her upbringing. Even as he walked out of the room, he grumbled to himself –_ face it, Gabranth, she just called you a monster on a part time basis, and that really shouldn't bother you, but it does. _

When the bath came, accompanied by two hefty-sized seeqs that nearly sloshed the contents of water along the hallway, the dumped the large tub in the middle of the room and left. Lady Ashelia thanked the fat-bellied owner, closing the door behind her. Fibes and Gabranth stood outside the room, and the owner fidgeted his chubby fingers in front of him, looking up at the muscular-built Judge. Fibes shakily smiled, giving the blond hume nervous looks ---which made the Judge furrow his brow in irritation, "What is it now?" Gabranth growled to Fibe's obvious looks.

Fibes went on a series of explaining: was complaining about a band of bangaas from another territory that was giving the locals a difficult time; some marauding pilfers from the Cerobbi Steppes, close to Balfonheim Port.

As the tavern owner gave him the information, hinting that he wanted Gabranth to take care of business for him, Gabranth ignored his request, telling him that it was not his concern and wanted to leave as soon as possible—when of course—the lady Ashe was ready and prepared.

A crestfallen look stained Fibe's jowled face, bowing his shiny hairless head, a deep sigh sounded from the rumble of his chest, and nodded, "Aye, I'll have to call upon the imperials to get the situation settled, there was nearly a fight broke out this morning, but I tolds them that there was a Judge Magister in the premises, and that stopped them."

Gabranth's body stiffened, slight annoyance at the fact that Fibes had used his status, therefore making him forcibly take care of the situation at hand, "You did what?"

"I'm sorry, Judge Magister, but I couldn't help it, I promise yeh, you can have the entire room free and meals free if you could just take care of this situation for me."

"I'm afraid I can't. I have other matters to attend to." Gabranth glared, was irritated to be used like this; he was used to the demands of the Empire's requests, but those were usually in the name of justice --- when he had to take the blade to Lady Ashelia's father, despite the knowledge he would blackmail his brother, it was in truth—to bring justice to a Dalmascan King who would betray his kin. How he longed to throw that into Lady Ashe's face, but stopped himself many times. It would be too close to revealing his weakness and own revenge for his twin.

Justice has been leading him astray, when he had to take the last blade, into Drace's heart. That was not justice. He despised himself for being used like this, and he longed for the days when Lord Gramis was still part of what he believed in..

The door to Lady Ashe's room opened, she peered out of the corner, her hand gripped the front of her chest where the towel covered her body, "Judge Gabranth, how could you not offer your assistance to Fibe's request?"

Gabranth almost wanted to smack his palm over his forehead, growled, "Lady Ashe, are you done with your bath yet, we have to leave, and make plans."

"I'm not going anywhere until you take care of the situation below stairs. What would happen if they found out that Fibes was lying?"

"He's not lying. I'm here."

Fibes was nervously looking from Lady Ashe to the tall hume, sending the Lady a grateful smile, "Thank ye so much, for your deep kindness. I could offer only free food and free accommodations should you need it,"

Ashelia nodded to the owner, her eyes snapping furious at Gabranth, "Go down there and help him take care of the rabble."

"And risk my life?"

She sent him a smirk, "_Please,_ I'm sure you can easily take care of them."

"Is that praise? Or is that confidence that I may do your bidding, again?"

She stomped her foot, "Gabranth!"

He curled his sensual lips, "All right," then turning to the owner, Fibes jumped back, "next time you use me, make sure I'm readily available."

Gabranth drew his brows together, "Wait. I need weapons. My weapons are in the ship. I –.."

"I have some weapons prepared for you, Judge, in a case such like this," Fibes happily offered, "Family heirloom too, you can use it for this fight," then leaned in for a whisper, "there's about six thieving bangaas below, just so you know."

Ashelia's eyes widened, "if you need my assistance,"

"Nay," Gabranth interrupted, "Finish your bath." Then faced Fibes, "hurry, then, I want to get this over with."~

----------------------

They departed in the direction of the opposite side of the hall, where Fibes took out a ring of keys to open the small cupboard room that held a few weapons. Ashelia dipped her head back inside the room.

"Insufferable man." She muttered, closing the door, but a ghost of smile lingered on her lips. Ashelia rushed into her bath, disposing of the towel, which landed on the floor, and hurriedly scrubbed her body with the offered lye-melon fragranced soap. She was eager to join the fight – at least if there was any left. Dunking her head in the water, she came up for air, pushing the wet darkened strands aside.

She looked over to see her clothes were neatly piled atop her bed where she had left it, and longed for a new weapon. The credits she had left over was not enough for the one she wanted, and if she sold the weapon she used that was left behind in the airship, she could make use of the finance and buy herself a new armour.

She lifted her leg, basking in the tepid water running down, and the noise of tables and chairs breaking downstairs alerted her.

* * *

_to be continued-_


	10. Chapter 10 : A Hound's Saving Grace

_A/N; Obsidian Thunder: I'm sure I'm missing things as I write this daily. But thanks!(hugs!)Here's a bit of action. I kind of enjoyed writing the action scenes, because bangaas vs. gabranth can only be hilarity in this fic.:_

* * *

**A Hound's Saving Grace.**

In Ivalice, there were several types of Bangaas, and many were not always accommodating, unless they lived in Dalmasca, owned their shops, aiding others through the plains of Giza. Those that roamed the outer-lands, after the great fall of many countries through the dark taint of Nethicite, scavengers combed mountains and rivers to find treasures, hunting for the great big score, which elevated them the most highly regarded status. These bangaas, of reputable high-rank, was what Gabranth would be facing, when he casually-sauntered, aye; _leisurely walked down the creak-sturdy stairs to greet them. _Wearing only the short-trousers and the shirt that was devoid of any of his usual armour, a weapon on his hand—sword without the double meaning. Gabranth was confident in his ability as a Judge Magister and has always eliminated his greater foes as easily as swatting a tomato-stalk twenty feet in the air, or flicking an errant Landisian-fly into a wall, shortening its life-span.

The six bangaas stood with easy bravado; they eagerly swayed their bulk-muscled lizard bodies, preparing for the Judge from Archades in a _fair fight_. Aye, they believed, secretly between themselves that this would be a fair fight: six against one.

The lead bangaa was not afraid, but three of his comrades behind him were diffident, backing a little ways off –wary eyes signaled their fear. But the two sidling up to the boss bangaa sneered openly, razor teeth lined their elongated mouths, snout protruding and nodding, "Well, well look 'ere, the great Judge Magister from the Archadian army without his steel-armour, boys."

"You got that right, boss, he looks puny for us six." Chimed a pinkish-coloured bangaa from behind, "maybe we can take 'em on. He's got no other imperial soldiers backing him up."

"Yeah, but he's a Judge." Whispered another cagey lizard, but the boss bangaa was not impressed, too proud of his own accomplishments already. What could one Judge do?

Gabranth was hardly 'puny', standing much too long, but compared to his six opponents, it certainly proved no contest; he stood more than six feet tall, honed with corded muscles, and nary an ounce of fat on him, and the expression he sent the six bangaas was one of insouciance, "I'm not one for forced conversations, so why don't we just end this, right here—it's quite effortless to see you're not going to walk away from this easily."

The bangaas looked to other, their long droopy ears swung as they swiveled their bodies from side to side, giving each looks of caution, the lead Bangaa with the green, hard scale snarled, "You're an arrogant one, a'right. The handful of you Judges, I hear are all like that. Full of conceitedness that you probably think you can handle any of us. You're too self-important to think you can take too lightly us."

"Yeah!" piped the nervous pink bangaa, his ears flopping sideways as he held his staff tightly, pounding it into the floorboard, "and he's got no armour! He'll bleed easily!"

Gabranth sighed, he realized that he'd probably get a little hurt in the process, with no armour; but a little pain was nothing to him. He bowed his head a little, reached up to touch his forehead with his forefinger and thumb lightly, frustration lining his dark-blond brows, "You make the first move then, I'll give you that."

"Arrogant! We'll show you!" the green-scaly lizard shouted, and did a flash-jump---Gabranth anticipated this—swiftly evaded from the attack; his borrowed long sword counter-swooped an arc-shaped assault, smoothly into the oncoming bangaa behind his fallen boss, stabbing into it, narrowly reaching its heart. The bangaa was already fearful of Gabranth and cried helplessly, falling back with a piercing pain.

"Fight you dumb lizard!" barked the pink-scaled foe, and indeed to call a bangaa 'lizard' outside their race was an offense; however, between them—it was commonplace—and mostly used to fib with another or in this case, slur their comrade into action.

"Your fear will make you lose, idiot!" The lead bangaa snarled with menace, pouncing back into Gabranth; the Judge blocked with his sword; the noise between their blades clanked, sliding down with strain, causing sparks to fly; the embers falling hot against their skins and unto the floor-boards. The vigor of the bangaa's beastly strength bore down on the hume with a snarled expression, "This is just one man! Nothing to fear boys! We'll get this one and be greater for it!"

Clearly, their purpose not only meant mischief for the tavern's usually peaceful atmosphere—they were intrigued by the fact that a Judge Magister roamed the premises—for bangaas such as these that ambitiously pursued the greatest trophy kill, an Archadian Judge was a delicious prospect. To Gabranth, he had faced many bangaas and found many of them afraid, albeit quite intelligent creatures of long-life. These were, to his assessment, quite too proud and overstepped their bounds.

The bangaa was sent back with an incredible energy—as Gabranth pushed with that force, sending his enemies toppling over; he swung the long sword against the other weapon, so forcefully that the blade flew out his foe's thickened fingers---the sound of the weapon hitting the walls jarred so forcefully, that it caused glasses and cups on the bar to fall off its counters; the crashing noise of the fight was becoming intense as onlookers watched with eager anticipation. Their trepidation allowed these customers to watch from outside, looking into the tavern greedily, nudging one another for the best spot next to an open window or broken doorway.

Fibes was behind the counter watching with fearful eyes, though was wont to leave such an event and find safer cover, his eyes bulged out as an oncoming large bulky object was making its way towards him, over the bar.

Gabranth had used one of his power-moves, bright-yellow-white flash swirled around him, propelling a bangaa flying into the bar, crashing strident-pierce as the lizard hit chairs and glasses, the body rolling over in pain. There were four bangaas left, facing the Judge---the boss's thick-scaly hide was turning a darker shade; its ears were red-furious; and his eyes were like black spots on each side.

"You got lucky, Judge!" The lead-bangaa shouted, looked at his remaining comrades, "keep your guard on, you idiots! Attack him with everything you've got!"

**Ashe:**

Upstairs, Ashelia hastily put her clothes on, snapped on her armour, and the clasps that held the bronze-decorated piece that surrounded her thighs, slid her skirt on, wiggling into it and fastening the belt quick.

As she flipped open the door, she paused, clenching her fist---she was without a weapon, and looked from the end of the hallway to the sound of the fight downstairs. Her face concentrated, she hoped she had enough energy consumed to create another Maelstorm Bolt, or if worse comes to it, a low-grade of it—Northwain's Glow, which was, in her opinion still quite effective.

She breathed deeply, closing her eyes, and stood there; while concentrating on all the energy she could muster--a slow-sucking energy moved into balls of rotary mist, invisible to the naked eye—until tiny pin-point diamonds could be seen surrounding her body, encompassing her entire being. She was ready for this—she told herself as she rushed headlong down the stairs, her hand on the banister, eyes taking in everything as the commotion revealed broken pieces of furniture, bodies of bangaas thrown in every direction.

Her eyes flew to where Gabranth would be, and found him being disposed upon his back by two charging bangaas who had swung their powerful arms—the force knocking the Judge back into the wooden table, breaking it into pieces. She saw him roll away from another attacking bangaa, flash-jumping its powerfully built legs into him and finding no object there. As he swayed from the blow, Gabranth kicked off the other bangaa who was using its pole to stab into him, knocked the staff away until the lizard was weaponless. The sword in Gabranth's hand swung forward, his body lunging towards his foe.

As she watched, she gasped as the green-scaled lizard used a blunt weapon to strike a blow into the Judge's back; and while the lizard's enemy would have moved away, the too-quick attack pounded hard on Gabranth's arm, knocking him to the ground, face down.

Ashelia forced herself into a meditative-controlled stance, hoping that Gabranth would get out of the way in time before the next blow struck into his back, with deadlier intent. She could not watch anymore as she began to draw the energy from the skies, ripping the ceiling open like a cracked caved in hole devastated by a comet hailing from the heavens---and her voice uttered soft and clear, "I must be strong."

The rain of heavy thick white-sparkled bolts fell down evenly into the sturdy-green lizard, and it was—just enough to cause the marauding boss, menacing the lands of Ivalice, through bully-tactics and proud accomplishments to fall to the ground, wobbling from the intense light and smashing diamonds and stars, his long droopy ears flapped like light feathers from the strong whiff of sharp pin-silver lights. When Ashelia was done, she watched as the last Bangaa fell face forward, arms spread out, landing heavily on the broken tables and chairs-- the smoke-filled dust caused a billowing cloud around him, declining steadily down like a soundless wispy cockatrice plume.

Gabranth was on his back, pushed himself off the ground with his palms flat against the floor, his weapon by his side; he sat up and stared at Ashelia.

"That was a quick bath." He managed to utter, breathless.

"You should take one, you look—.." she gazed at his body—the light sweat clinging to his broad shoulders, the shirt-stained of dust battle, but his hair--was poster-perfect, cropped blond hair to his well-formed scalp, "like you could use one."

He sent her a quick smile, lifted the corner of his lips; he gave her a look that looked very sensual, despite what just happened, and she was annoyed that he was too casual about the entire affair, when he could have been killed. Not that, she reminded herself –that that was a problem, since it would easily take care of the fact that he was, a murdering assassin who played the wrong side of the playing field.

She drew herself up, angry that he was not what she expected, but _---oh, he was everything she did expect as well._

When he drew himself closer, he looked down at her smaller form, and she felt so tiny next to him. Her eyes unwavering as he stared down into them. She could find his sweat and closeness offensive, but they were not---he was masculine as the taste of bergenot, and tanned hides of wolves; she was finding it hard to breathe. Not because she found his nearness unusual, but that he was daring her---something in which she thought was a trick of her imagination. They were surrounded by the falling debris, the ceiling caved in, wood splinters, broken glasses and ceramic pots in pieces decorated the floors—the catastrophe was momentous and was one which made even the tavern owner weep behind the bar.

The couple heard Fibes, breaking their eye contact to look over to the sound of muffled crying, finding the bar-owner in tears, "I told you to take care of them, not destroy my establishment! I would have—.." he gasped, "would have forgiven the broken furniture and I already have a second supply of glasses, but the ceiling?"

Gabranth looked up, "Aye, I can see what you mean."

Ashelia blushed a deep shame of pink--pink as her tiny skirt, "Apologies, Fibes, it is not unusual that I attempt my quickenings outside, where it's easier; but, if there's anything I can do."

"I'll take care of the matter," Gabranth suggested calmly, the usual disagreeable countenance he held for her, softened; he looked, almost angelic.

Ashelia drew in her breath. Surely, even the demons of Ivalice could hold such a face.

"Must you always feel it is your duty to take responsibility for my actions?" she wanted to take the words back, because he was still smiling.

"Just call it, even—_you did save me_. I have to pay such debts with honour, Lady Ashe."

She swiftly avoided his beatific gaze, wanted to retort how she was not heartless, instead mumbled another excuse, "fine, but you still need a bath."

"It was most definitely on my mind." He said, lowering his voice for her ears alone, because there were still citizens outside gazing in, watching them.

"Hmm," She mused loudly, head leaning to one side, "I dont think Fibes will be so accommodating."

"River of Nebra then; free of charge?"

Fibes yelled from the bar, "If you're willing to pay for the ceiling damages, Judge Gabranth, I'll be happy to get another bath for you!"

Gabranth shook his head, glancing over to the flustered tavern owner, "Nay, we've overstayed our welcome, Fibes," then looked back to Ashelia, "Will you accompany me?"

"Have I any choice in the matter? _Really,_ Gabranth. I dont know why you bother to ask. You're not fooling me with your knightly mannerism--it's much too Archadian, not enough heat behind it."

He nodded slow, weighing her words, "True. Then let us depart, I dont like having dirt on myself too long, especially the stink of a battle from," he looked at the fallen bodies, "theiving bangaas, and I could easily say something foolish to your ears, such as 'justice has been served,' and Ashelia blinked at that trite comment, "but, I won't. Come, Lady Ashe, we've had enough entertainment for one day."

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	11. Chapter 11: Vengeance is Justice

**_Revenge is the act of passion; vengeance is an act of justice._**

_**-**S**.** Johnson_

* * *

"Lady Ashe, I have matters to attend to in Archades," he told her, while bathing part-naked in the Nebra river, by the Estersand's caravan site; he had taken off his shirt, and scrubbed with the soap he brought along, his hands sliding over biceps, then stretching arm and slackened fingers covered in bubbled lathered foam, to finish off, while the water lapped slowly around his waist.

Ashelia looked a little over at Gabranth, turning away as if she were looking into something private. He caught her blush-tinted cheeks, and wondered if that was an indication of her prudish behaviour---which he had not expected of her to possess—being as she had been already married and had practically seen him nude—or was the simmering sun that seem to plague Dalmasca's deserts the reason and the cause?

"Have I done any cause to make myself improper, Lady Ashelia? Have you not seen a hume male nude before?"

"You forget yourself, Gabranth." She humpfed loudly, walked over to the long narrow palm tree which provided a cool support for her to lean against, and folded her arms, "I've no interest in you, so I suggest you tend to your ego, because not every female hume likes an Archadian Judge."

"Nay?" he smirked, amused, "you should see our acclaimed Judge Ghis—he takes appropriate care of himself, right down to the do,"

"I've had the unfortunate to convene him, once. And that was enough."

"We really need to outline what we must do with you. I'm not unerringly elated with our state of affairs."

"So, Vayne wants us to have a child." She made an amused mock-snort, "Why on Ivalice—of all the gods convened, does he want us together? I may understand his intentions on my behalf, however, with you? What have you done to him that made him choose you? You are his favoured executioner, are you not?"

He took a deep breath, washed off the remaining soap that clung about his shoulders and chest; his fingers spread out along abs and upper torso, leaned down to capture some water into his cupped hands and dump a handful of Nebrian River unto his hair. With that, he shook it off as he brought his head back up, hand gliding over the pale darkened wet strands, "my duties were always conjecturing with Lord Gramis, before he passed away."

"Not with Vayne?"

"Not always, nay, my primary concern was with the father, and as I've said before, he was much like a mentor to me."

There was a gentleness in his voice that he could not betray to her, and she looked to him, despite herself—found him coming out of the water, soaking wet, his short-trousers clinging to his toned legs, hips, thighs, and she found her gaze wandering to the contour and shape, to the area where his ---

She turned away quickly, embarrassed.

"You must miss him." She told him, clearing her throat, her eyes gazing to the opposite direction where the wind was breezily caressing against her face.

"I miss a lot of things, Daughter of Dalmasca." He said, quietly.

"Only in a world where war between our countries still exist in a tenuous existence, that we begin to realize what truly matter most."

"And for you?"

"What?" She said, dazedly, because she took on that far-away look, as if she were contemplating the past.

"For every individual, these things are not the same. What matters to you, Daughter of Dalmasca?" He strode up to her, his bare feet sunk slightly into the warm sand as he approached closely.

"What matters?" She swallowed, glancing at him once, then turning back to the stroke of the wind, "My freedom, that is all I wanted."

He leaned in; his lips close to her cheek, whispered like a shadow in a dream, seeping into her subconscious, "Have you considered revenge?"

He had only thought of revenge for years, and when he was elevated in status, took in by Lord Gramis; his mother dying in his arms, her still-young fingers touching his profile, reminding him that he was Archadian, much much more than his father's blood.

_"For your brother, he is Landisian, but for you, Noah, you belong to Archades."_

_"Mother, he left us, how could you—how could you believe he loved this land more than I?"_

He was so young, then, when the painful prick behind his eyes, pinched at him--- felt the wetness that fell from the corner, and ran down his cheek. His beautiful mother had gazed at him with tears, full of joy and sorrow; and now, after those years, he stood beside the Princess who his twin served; the King he had slained, changing the course of history. He could take comfort in that his twin suffered, because he suffered. He clenched his fist at the fresh memory, and when he caught her gaze, he turned away, annoyed.

"Revenge?" She asked him, perplexed.

"Aye, against the Empire."

"I have nothing to use against them, Gabranth."

"Even if you did have a child, you are not even the Princess under law; you are not recognized by your own people."

"The dawn shard was supposed to be my proof, and even Vayne took that away."

"He has them in possession, and all it takes is for him to proclaim your heritage, and you are Princess Ashelia returned."

"You make it sound so simple."

"Nothing is that simple. But, if you had the tool to use against the Empire, would you, Lady Ashe?"

He needed to know, and somewhere deep within in, he wanted her to say yes. He wanted her to feel the taint of revenge, the way he has. He, in some ways wanted her to understand how the bile of hatred ran its way up his heart and enclosed it in a tight blackened fist, blocking out the light that he could not even feel remorse at what he had done to his brother.

Gabranth was starting to feel the slow-burning ache in his heart again.

"I am not revengeful by nature, Gabranth," She whispered, not moving, his body was so close, that he could smell the scented melon-soap she had used this morning on her skin; the Estersand's breeze was warm and inviting, tingled against them like a taut discovery, prickling tiny hairs along their exposed flesh.

"Neither any of us are, in the beginning."

When she turned to face him, he was so close that she could almost touch her lips against his face, "I should have known." Her voice was close to antagonism.

"What?" he sent her a confused look.

"You're using me; you want me to take revenge on the Empire, do you not?"

"I have not suggested any such thing. I had only asked if you would." He replied; lips stern and eyes hardened.

"And if I did, would you stand by me?" she asked, a coquettish look on her face.

Gabranth was not fooled, "And you would slap me like you did my brother, if I had said aye."

"Foolish, hateful man!" she seethed, backing away, "If I choose to take revenge, I shall do so of my own free will. What would you have me do, Gabranth? Attempt something even more preposterous, by sleeping with you; and gods---how many times we must lie together until we have a child? Then use that child for the purpose of getting back to the Empire? That's quite a long time, nine months to be exact, and even then ---how long would it take for the child to grow, and wean the mind to understand that revenge was the only way his or her parents ever taught it?"

He swallowed hard at her accusations, "Obviously, we would not be great parents."

"Where _is_ the Basch in _you_, Gabranth?"

It was like scalding acid thrown into his face, and he silently watched her leave; she strode purposely back into the Estersand's encampment.

"I am _not_ my brother," he croaked out brokenly, whispered to no one but the Dalmascan wind, his hand reaching over for support---to place over his head, raking through the damp closely-cropped strands, with fingers spread; he bowed, leaning his forehead against the tree where she had her back to, his fingers strained against the surface, and nearly wept.

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	12. Chapter 12: Mandocello on Estersand

_**The Song of Mandocello Breizh on the Estersands**_

He would have slept underneath the stars, like he used to when he was young. But it was always cold even during the summers in Landis, and the storms brewed every sunrise, heralding the fields like a bell toll, waking beasts fed fat on the land.

He would have asked to leave, to go back to Vayne, and tell him that he could not find Lady Ashelia. It simply would not do, and the day had worn down, like the dying embers clinging onto the crimson-ashened glow on the logs stacked up in the middle of the campsite. The shadows of travelers shaped against the grayish hue of heavy cloudburst, blocking out the sunset's mirage that would have spectacularly spread even along the Nebrian River.

He would have turned back to his ship, because he told himself—there was the question of fuel, and there were his duties to attend to. But his duties had been looked after before he left. It has only been two days since her disappearance.

When he saw her conversing with the weary travelers, they—with their tents hooked up against the shade of trees, and pinned down by the old worn rust-ridden nail, that he saw their conditions: many of them sought homes to call their own, but for the present, they remained like the nomads, plaguing the land after the Nethicite war. Many of them have already found places to support them, on the mountains calling for the homeless upon Mt. Bur-Omisace. He had watched the groups from a distance; they had always stumbled along wearing rags, sometimes with the make-shift blankets they cloaked around their thin shoulders.

He was, to them, a powerful image, upon a sleek airship paid and bought for, by the Empire, all given to him for his preferred skills & his bloodline. For each of them, becoming a Judge had its prejudices, and one had to be from a background of nobility. His mother provided that, along with her surname. He could never, ever regret or return back to Landis, even when his own plight into Archadian court was not without favour.

He had witnessed some of them falling helplessly upon each other for support, he had with some numbing pain, looked on from his ship, accompanied with Judge Drace, then. She had voiced her opinion on how the Empire has much to answer for, for this was not the way of things. He had always listened to her wisdom, but found that she was too intensely ardent, acted without reason first. In the end, he found much to suffer when she died in his arms. Gabranth could, for once feel the sorrow he felt long ago creep silently into his heart, like a long lost lover.

The Lady Ashelia was a passionate young female, he witnessed, but she was skillful in keeping her feelings in check, unlike Drace; yet, when she was angered, there was nothing but fury and a razor-sharp tongue that made its way into his own skin.

He did return to his ship, to at least find an extra set of clothing. What he wore, was simply not appropriate to converse around others. He hadn't realized at this point that he felt completely comfortable with Lady Ashe, as if dressing and undressing around her, seemed very conventional. Finding the extra shirt, it was long sleeved, black, almost faded, but clean and crisp,

When he approached the campsite, there were three couples, and each pair wore faded, tattered blankets draped around their bodies, warming each other from the cooler temperatures Dalmasca desert offered. They had stopped conversing when they saw him and one of the male humes waved him over, "Hey, so you're Amalia's traveling partner?"

"Amalia?" Gabranth raised his brow, catching the look of austerity in Ashelia's eyes, and he nodded, measured, "Aye, I am he." He took the hand that was offered, and unaccustomed to the fact that he was shaking hands with local citizens, he tentatively asked, "And did Amalia happen to offer you my name?"

"She did not, as a matter of fact," the man replied; he had his arm around his female companion, "My name is Yansel and this is my wife, Hellen," he looked about to the other two couples, "those are our friends, they're traveling with us, on our way to Nalbina Fortress. We're looking for work, we've been traveling all way from the west, we even went past the Namsea, and have lost much of our supplies on the way; yet, we found Dalmasca to be rich with everything: sun, water, abundant food in the rivers, food on the deserts, plants and shelter alike."

"Nalbina," Gabranth gave a slight nod, "Ah, that's not too far from here, you'll find that there are soldiers stationed there, and there's little work, except if you plan on signing up for the rebuilding of the bastion."

Yansel scratched his pointed jaw, "I can do that, we need work, and my wife here, can help out with whatever needs to be done, we're not merchants sadly, so we have nothing to offer. Our hands are our skill and my back is strong, I can pick up very heavy things."

"Good, they need strong young men."

"So you two married as well?" Yensel asked kindly, "or..siblings? Business partners?"

"Uh," Gabranth wavered, glancing up to Ashelia. She chimed in quickly, "Aye, he is my husband; we're on our way to Rabanastre."

"That explains it. You two look very well together. Never have I seen such a fine couple, besides us, of course," He sent them a wink, "I'm happy you stumbled upon us, we would offer for you to come join us to go to Nalbina, but you are already on your way to Rabanastre. Tell me, Amalia, is it further than Nalbina? And would it be worth it for us to travel there instead?"

"Rabanastre is still rich in employment, if you choose to look around. There are plenty of people there that would be willing to help."

"Not really." Gabranth uttered low.

He honestly did not see the reason why the Princess decided to share their less than genuine nuptials. But he was sure there was something behind it.

"Come, share the food with us, then, it's not much but we managed to snare a large bird off the edge of Westersand, was difficult to snare; yet the six of us managed to capture it with some injury," Yensel indicated that wound to another man's arm which was slung into a thick wrapped bandage.

"You're much too kind," Ashelia said, her fingers entwined before her; "We were just going to leave." She looked over at Gabranth's mystified expression.

"We were?"

"You can't," Hellen chipped in, her red bright hair shaped into a bun at the back of her head, the fire light caught the deep brown freckles along her flesh, "It's so nice to meet other people along the road, it gets really lonely for company since it's always just us."

"All right," Ashelia managed to laugh softly; for she seemed so pleased at such a hospitable offer, glad to be surrounded by such happiness, "if you don't mind, we can share, but I must insist that we bring something as well."

Hellen waved her hand aside, "Psffawh, no need."

"It's no bother, my husband has a bottle of wine tucked away, and that could be good for the barbequed bird you caught."

For indeed, the large bird in question was on a pit in the middle of their campsite, skinned of feathers and being turned over with a stick that was skewered through; there were two thickened sticks at each end, and the fire burned steadily, roasting the bird slow and sending off smells of sweet basil and honey. Honey was applied to it as a coat and the fires charcoaled its once pink flesh with a sizzling noise as the juices hit the logged flames.

"Ah I do?" Gabranth was even more perplexed than ever.

Ashelia ran up to him, grabbed his arm and turned him towards the direction where his ship was parked, hidden amongst the large boulders and just at the edge of the Cliffside, surrounded by thick cactuses and galbana flowers.

"Aye, you do," she whispered harshly, then turned to the others, "We'll be right back."

"I do not keep wine or any spirits on my ship, Lady Ashe."

"You do now."

"You managed to procure one? How is this possible?"

"Fibes offered me a bottle before leaving, said that he would like to see us come back again, and I refused at first—then thought of it."

"Nice to know that you tuck a few things away without my knowledge; and are there any more surprises?"

"Aye, there is," she said frankly, and now it was his turn to give her a stern look.

"Trouble yourself not; 'tis only some weapons Fibes gifted me."

Gabranth tightened his jaw, felt the muscle tick there; he hoped his words were not out of jealousy, for that was far from his mind, "When Fibes offers something for free, he wants something from you in return."

"He was genuinely concerned, and he knew that without your help, he would have perhaps died from those marauding bangaas."

"I doubt it."

"Gabranth!" she scolded.

"Fine. Let's go back to the ship and return and have our meal with them." He raised his hand to plant his palm flat against his forehead, "Gods, woman, is there anything else that I should be warned about? You tear my insides like a puppet on a string."

"I do?" She asked, sweetly, close to chiding him.

"Never mind." He grumbled.

They walked to his ship, in the darkness of the desert's glow, where the midnight sky stained a backdrop of cool remote stars, some falling downward like a distant airship. It looked very quixotic, and he had not realized that her hand was still at his elbow, her fingers clasping loosely on his skin.

They were silent on the way back, the wolves were too far to be of any bother and the rolling packs of cockatrice were tranquil in their fun, playfully cycling along the still-warm sand.

As they all sat together by the fireside, Hellen took a plastic worn, but clean plate, slaved off a large piece of barbequed bird flesh, fully cooked and simmered in honey, on it, and gave it to Gabranth.

"We didn't get your name?"

He took the food offered, and gave his thanks, and was about to think of a name, until Ashelia pealed in, "It's Gabby."

Gabranth nearly choked out. He felt her fingers on his shoulder, digging in, "Gabby, dear, don't forget to pour the wine to each of these generous people."

"Not a problem, Amalia, _Beloved."_ He wanted to choke the entire time, but forgot everything that was bordering on the ridiculous; however, as he started to eat, his stomach rumbling for the food, reminded him that he had not eaten much all day.

When they all relaxed with the wine, finished their meal, a larger, rotund male hume chirped in merrily, a great big smile on his face, "we should dance!"

His wife, who sat next to him, slapped him on the arm, blushing, "Oh Quill, now we're going to embarrass them."

Quill chuckled lovingly to her, patting her on the arm, "after a good bottle of wine," he nodded towards Gabranth, "and a healthy sized bird that was, thanks to Hellen's fine choice of seasoning, was delicious, we need to have song and dance."

Ashelia looked over to Gabranth and they both nodded quietly, "we were not expecting to stay long."

But indeed, they had not even discussed what they were supposed to do, where he would take her after, except that Rabanastre was not too far; and that there was still the business of reporting back to Vayne with Ashelia's disappearance. But they seemed to have delayed another evening, one more, sat with rag-tag travelers who were overtly friendly and shared their food.

"I'm a musician, by the way," Quill puffed up his chest, patted his large stomach, the buttons on his shirt barely holding together, "I play a little cittern that I take along with me." He walked over a ways, reaching down to a large bulky sack by his tent side, withdrawing the cittern out of its cover, "this! It's not much to look at."

Quill, the musician wiped off the imaginary dust on the cover, and indeed the instrument did look worse for wear, but as he placed it securely against him, strung a few strings with his nimble chubby fingers, a fine tune came out of it.

"Come!" Hellen squealed happily, pulling Gabranth's hand, "You don't mind if I borrow your husband?"

"Uh, nay." Ashelia managed to say, saw that the others were already starting to dance and left her alone to gaze at Hellen's attempt to get Gabranth to dance.

He was not comfortable with the turn of events, by the looks of it, managing to break out in a sheepish smile. He could see from the corner of his eyes that the Lady Ashe was almost smiling; he bowed slightly at Hellen's insistence, as she lifted her tattered skirt, her feet rising gradually to the tune of the northern jig; up and down until she did a turning dance for him.

Gabranth would not have believed this situation in a thousand lifetimes, but here he was, taking a stranger's wife's hand and danced with her under the Dalmasca skies, whilst the Princess watched, who was—by and by—a counterfeit wife.

Hellen laughed, "You're very good, Gabby! You should dance with your wife!" she grabbed his hand tightly and reached down to take Ashelia's, "here, dance with your husband! I insist!"

Taking the two hands, Hellen's eager insistence, and infectious mood managed to entwine Ashe and Gabranth's reluctant fingers together; Hellen cheered them on, while Quill picked up another tune, this time, slower and less cheerful.

He stood speechless as Ashelia looked up at him, taking him into the line of the dancers, and thought she was about to refuse, but the mood of the traveler's, the beautiful song; the moonless night and the great expanse of Dalmasca desert sky bloomed a fragrance of untamed beauty, something he hadn't seen or felt in---ever. So this was what it was like to live on the Deserts of Dalmasca? To feel the balmy soft zephyr, kiss his exposed skin, underneath the falling stars, feeling the yielding temperate sand underneath his feet.

If she were a wife in truth to him, he would love her for all his waking days, and fall on his knees, begging for a kiss but she was not; because for the present, he would always,_ always_ be her enemy.

The pain in his chest was a token that _she was too much; _too close to a reminder of his lost loves. Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca was as warm as her beloved desert country, with eyes of steel that could break his heart.

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	13. Chapter 13: Away to the Edge Of Archades

A 'plunk' sound echoed along the River, and the water was like a dark shade of blue and green, miniscule pins of light from the sky reflected across its expanse; again, the sound of the plunk resounded further as a pebble crashed against the surface of the Nebra and drowned.

Gabranth had managed to tear himself away from the campsite's small festivities after dancing with Lady Ashe, finding it difficult to understand why he was feeling the emotional pull in his chest, tightening a hold onto the next pebble, larger than the last—into his fist, ready to throw it into the Nebra. He heard her approach without turning to look; he knew, instinctively that she would seek him out. When she had finally reached to his side, he waited till she sat down to where he sat on that still-warm sand, and sent her a sidelong glance.

"We cannot go to Rabanastre at this time, Lady Ashelia, with too many soldiers there; they would recognize me, and word would get around, no matter how much I may try to sway my men to still their tongues, that I was there. This would alert Vayne to the knowledge that, undoubtedly brings you back to Rabanastre. And the Rebels you once hid with, are even now—being ferreted till there is none."

"For two years, the Imperial soldiers have tried to furrow the insurgence's hidden places and have repeatedly failed; I hardly doubt if I go back within the same circles that they would find me, again."

"You're fooling yourself." He chuckled, "Some places have been found," he caught her stiffen a little, "they have killed many of the rebels the night you were found and imprisoned, and have even found a few stray rebels to tell the tale of where any underground holds are"

"That's only because the soldiers torture them, or hold something precious over their conscience, to blurt out what they can, and this is why not all of the resistance that I ran with know everything."

"Wise, Lady Ashelia." He sent her a mock salute, "the fact remains that you cannot go back there, not now, at least."

She looked positively serene, unlike the day before, as if even she was finding his company too comforting.

Gabranth continued, "I have devised a plan, if you would listen."

"And this would suffice Vayne? Your plans have always been ridiculous, but they seemed to work; however, I do have one as well." Ashelia replied, hunched down in the sand with her legs bent and folded under her; and fidgeted, as if she could not find a proper way to sit, with her hands on her lap, she pulled her legs out so that she may hug her knees. He weighed the pebble in his hand, fisting it and threw. The sound of another plunk doubled as it flipped noisily downward upon the surface and into the water. He decided to change the subject, and perhaps he did take too long of drink of the wine, even taking hers when she refused. She must have realized that last night's fiasco was enough.

"I never thought – you of all, would," he could not find the words, gazing into the waves, listening to the last conversations dying down at the encampment. He was grateful that she finished for him.

"That I would dance with you? It is nothing. We must make appearances."

He shook his head, took another pebble from the sand by his side-- the grainy wetness stuck to his palms and fingers-- throwing the object to watch it splash several times before plunging down the depths.

"Nothing, aye." He whispered, and felt like a schoolboy the way he sulked. This on top of everything else irritated him.

"I've been thinking," she managed to say; her presence has been unusually calm since the revelry and the company of good-natured travelers, "about my situation, my uncle Halim in Bhujerba, he would help me."

"Ondore?" He sniffed, threw another pebble into the River, "he's the one that proclaimed your death."

"Aye; he would aid me once he knew that I live and breathe; he can't turn me back,"

"He profits with this war as well, Lady Ashelia. Believe not that your uncle had his own agendas to benefit in receiving much consideration, and lack of---entirely in the name of the Empire's good side."

"I do not cleave any ill-will towards my uncle; I am sure he had to do what must be done."

"You're in a rather forgiving mood," he mused, goaded, threw the next pebble with a little more force, "So, you desire I take you to Bhujerba, and then what?"

He turned to face her, his arms slack on his bent knees, legs partly spread, facing the River, "he's not going to take my presence with all good will. Judge Ghis has already stationed much of his own soldiers there. Another Judge there would send your uncle to question the Empire's intention. He's been under investigation, did you know?"

He didn't exactly understand why he chose to give her this information, but the way she looked –vulnerable, alone and seeking a way out of her predicament made him feel, protective. He grit his teeth, thought of all the reasons why he felt the way he did, and reasonably enough, in his mind, he was simply too alone.

_Fuck, Gabranth, as if that was any consolation to you before_. And he hadn't cursed to himself in a long while either. He searched for another pebble, finding only smooth sand betwixt his fingers, pouring between. _If he so wanted companionship, why had he not sought it before?_ Her nearness and the sound of her voice seemed to bring him that instinctual compulsion to defend his loved ones. But the Lady Ashe was not his beloved, nor was she by any means his Princess, and not even from a country he served. They had paused long enough to hear the laughter from the campsite, the glow of the fire lighting up the faces of their new friends. Ashelia bowed her head, her feet still covered in her royal-red buckled shoes, the bronze armour which hugged her thighs had been discarded and she looked incredibly bare, with legs long and supple, riding up to the tip-end of her pink skirt.

"Will you take me there, Gabranth. To my uncle?"

"You're asking?"

She glared at him, "What other possible option do we have?"

"Would you listen to mine?"

Ashelia turned away, bowed her head to touch her chin against the tops of her knees, fingers holding on to her legs, "Aye."

"I have a home in Archades."

"You live there?" she asked, interrupting, her head lifting up from her rest, eyes searching, for she must have thought he lived in the Solidor Household.

"Every so often, it's my home." He shrugged, "to be exact, my mother's home, from her father--my grandsire; it was given to me & and my twin; but as you know, my twin had stationed his home in Rabanastre, never coming to Archades. So, it belongs to me..."

"All right, and?"

"You could stay there for awhile until I figure out what to do; no one would ever know or search there."

She shook her head, "Nay, that's even more ridiculous than your other plans."

"And you did say my plans have worked out."

"We should try my uncle first."

"I'm afraid that is out of the question," he clenched his jaw, closed his eyes, because he was bracing himself for a sharp scolding.

"Is it because you will be recognized there as well? Because the Imperial army will be questioning and reporting the news, as news travels fast that you have brought a female to Bhujerba to meet Ondore?"

"Precisely, that and more."

"I'll concede that." She whispered.

Gabranth was surprised; he had not expected her to give in so easily, gazing at her curiously, "What? No angry retorts or a hot scalding response as to why we can't go your plan?"

"Nay, it is wiser this way, besides there is another matter I want to bring up."

"Ah, the Princess has a hidden agenda," he snorted softly, "naturally."

"We shall go to your home in Archades, but only to stock up, you must have weapons or such things, and we shall go to the Shrines that are stationed all over Ivalice."

"What?" He drew his brows together.

"We must go and find a way to get my identity back, Gabranth."

"You are mad, Lady Ashe. Why? Because Vayne will be following me with his spies, and those spies are not always in the form of Imperial soldiers. Soldiers I can take care of, but other--," He stopped, did not know what to say, because he would have to tell her about Dr. Cid, about the Espers and other secrets kept within the Solidor's agenda.

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, "There are other factors weighing into this, Lady Ashe, and he expects me to take you back, and unless we come up with you pregnant somehow, then there's nothing else to be said. I have to take you to Archades, then I'll return to Vayne, report your disappearance."

He could see she was livid, her jaw tightened, softened features hardened under the moonless sky, where her own hands clenched into fists, "I said I promised I would never call you bastard." She uttered low.

"Lady Ashe, if you are taken in by the Imperial soldiers again," He shook his head, "I cannot risk that, to you and I."

"You mean risk _your _position as Judge Magister?!" She seethed, her teeth showing.

Ignoring her accusation, he continued in a soft tone, "After I report to Vayne of your disappearance, we can go to the shrines as you wish."

Her face transformed from fury to surprise, then she split a grin, and nearly jumped for joy; her hands almost reaching to hold him, but she stopped herself from doing so.

"Thank you, Gabranth." She managed to say breathlessly.

He felt the rise of bile in his throat, watching how her face beamed like a child who was given a free piece of candy; his throat tightened, and he reasoned that despite her maturity, she was still so young. Wed so young and lost everything. _Just the way you did, Gabranth; _then rationaled silently that he has never wedded, at the very least. But he did know what loss meant. Perhaps this was the reason why he could find an inkling of affinity with her. Under such unique circumstances.

"But, will Vayne actually believe you?" she asked.

"I have a feeling he will." He mused, lifting himself off the sand, and offered his hand, "I believe I should be the one surprised that you deem to trust me."

"I really have no choice in the matter."

"Actually, you do, you could have stabbed me—not enough to kill me; or perhaps you could have that option as well, and then depart without remorse."

She sent him a dimpled look, her finger on her chin, "Hmmm, I should have. The suggestion requires merit."

"Please don't hold back on my behalf," he leaned in, half smiling, his hand still on hers, "it is frightening to know you're calculating each move I make."

"Let us tell our cheerful company that we are off then."

**The Edge of Archades:**

His home had servants still keeping the place clean, with all the sparse plants still blooming outside the walkway; the house stood tall, a two story modest noble home with pale-ashened columns that lined the front double door, and there were windows without light, decked in plain but decorative fashion, in the same style that all Archadian nobles seem to possess. Inside, was no different, as they stepped inside to find themselves haloed in dim light; he could still make out the shapes, where the covered fixtures decorated the front sitting room. When he searched for light, he found the matches and candles in the drawer right in the large pantry room where a row of shiny bronze pots hung lifeless over the narrow pristine tiled kitchen counter; there was a closed window by the large, low sink, cupboards lined with bronze and stained with the colour of pale-crème'. He took the candle and lit it with the struck match, the flame illuminating his features and set it down on the immaculate counter.

She was still a little further away from him, her hands entwined together in front of her as she gazed at him from the boundary of the sitting room.

"You can come in further, there's no one here."

"That's what I'm afraid of." She said, breathless.

He gazed at her, "Don't tell me you're afraid of me?"

She seemed to have caught her fire back, because she sent him a snapping glance, "Get over yourself, Judge Gabranth, I meant that, it's so quiet and still here, does no one live here?"

Perplexed, he narrowed his eyes, bringing the holder which the candle sat on, over to her, "Do you wish otherwise?"

"You're galling." She fumed, then looked up, found the ceiling was arched high and there were beams that held the roof, and further, there was a stairway that led to the upper rooms. The light he brought created shadows that clung to their movements.

"Come upstairs, if you like, you'll have to pick out your room." He retrieved the candle and proceeded to climb up the stairs.

She was quiet as she followed him, up the curving stairway, her hand on the banister, and when they reached to the top of the stairs, there was a long hallway that led to several chambers on each side. The upstairs had offices and rooms that were not entirely sleeping quarters, but they were empty of life now, with only the large desks, chairs blanketed in pale sheets, bookcases with a few dusted books that stood against the upper workplace at the first right.

"Did you and your mother live here?"

"Shortly, aye, but I took up the offer to the Solidor household after her passing."

Ashelia tracked behind him as he opened a door to a room that looked to be furnished with clean plain sheets, a canopied bed with modest drapes and patterns; the wide dresser beside it was the boudoir, shiny with cherry-wood, partly open to reveal some hangers with long stylish Archadian gowns.

By the bed, there was one stand, to hold a lamp and there was a long window that encompassed the entire wall on one side.

She walked over to the window, and tried to pry it open. She used her open palm flat against the glass to push on the lever that seemed to have locked the pane together. He was about to walk over to her when her hand pushed too hard, and the crash of the glass bit into her hand. She uttered a low painful cry, and held her wrist.

"Lady Ashe," he hurriedly placed the candle down by the bedside, and rushed to her, taking her wrist and saw the large cut, the blood was oozing out of her palm where the gash was, "Careless of you, our windows are barred shut."

"I wanted to bring some fresh air inside," She gritted her teeth, "let me take care of myself, do you have a bandage in the house?"

"Hold still, and keep your hand up, I'll retrieve it," He rushed to one of the drawers, pulling out a clean sheet, ripping it into a long piece. He took her proffered hand and started wrapping the sheet around her hand.

"If you had potions, it would have sufficed. In fact, do you?"

Still holding her hand, he looked into her eyes, "Aye. I do." _Why hadn't he thought of it before?_

"Tucked away somewhere?" She sent him an arched brow, "We could use quite a few of those potions when we travel to get proof of my identity."

"Aye, we have a supply somewhere in the house, and you're correct to assume we have weapons. But they're not very good, does not have the edges sharpened to make much damage."

"Blunt weapons?"

He chuckled, "Correct."

It occurred to him that they were making inane jokes between themselves and it was rather awkward; his hand was still on hers. She cleared her throat, "it's late, this room is fine, I'll rest here, and then in the morrow, we'll set out to Mt. Bur-Omisace."

"Why there?"

"There is the Gran Kiltias Anastasis, he predicts through dreams."

"The Prophet?" He shook his head, "we, in house of Solidor, Senate and Magisters; amongst ourselves, believe him to be fraud."

She took a deep breath, "Of course, Archadians think differently than we do." she huffed out an exhale, "Go and tell Vayne on the morrow; or this evening if you will, and we shall set off after breakfast."

"At once, your highness." He sent her a half-smirk, "it is getting late, but the hour is not yet time to retire; I shall depart tonight to the consul, and give my report."

"You will return here in the morning?" She asked him before he turned.

"Nay, I planned on returning here to retire, it would easier for me." He caught the minor discomfort flickering in of her eyes, "Unless you wish me to leave you here alone."

"Do what you want, Judge Gabranth. But we must make haste in the morning."

"Fine," he quipped, leaving her.

**Ashe:**

When she knew he had left for good, the silent noise of his airship taking off to the direction of the palace over the large city of Archades—the distant lights brilliant and filled with traffic of modern machines over the skies, she was reminded how backwards her own country has been, without the same technology that the Empire seemed to find.

Ah, she thought, as she gazed steadily out the window, the breeze coming in through the gaping hole where the glass has fallen away, that her country had no need for such things; and the greed between Rozarria and the Empire had overwhelmed Ivalice. Her tiny Dalmascan home was up for the spoils of war.

Her inquisitive nature spurred her actions into searching around the house, finding herself into the large library room, where photographs of two boys staring back at her--- sat upon the unlit open hearth, a gilt mirror hung above the fireplace. The two boys in the photo held hands, alike in facial features and hair colour. The pale-strands and honest blue eyes were identical and there was a sense of happiness between them.

She drew her brows together, gazing at the image, her bandaged hand held the photograph, which was encased lovingly in a decorated frame and smooth glass. Her finger traced over the boy's faces, and she could not tell which one was Gabranth and who was Basch.

On the bottom of the photograph, her eyes caught the etched wording: _Basch & Noah._

_Noah_, she whispered.

* * *

_-to be continued-_


	14. Chapter 14: King Slayer Returns

He was wearing his armour again, donned it before setting foot inside Vayne's office. When he entered, he found the eldest Solidor facing the tall, long window, overlooking Archades. The lights from the traveling airships were speeding by at a moderate rate, creating neon flashes in its wake.

When he finally alerted Vayne of his existence, the consul did not move, just stared fixedly at the traffic in the skies, his fingers laced together at the back; the long silk-jacket was loose, so that it hung loosely around him. His dark wavy hair was still on one side, so that his hawk-like features appear like a sharp relief.

"Ah, the hound has returned," he said silkily, pressing his feet upward, his body moving a little forward, "I have a message for you, by and by."

Gabranth remained still, holding the helm on his arm while watching Vayne step back, turning to procure a document, "we have caught a few insurgences and have managed to dispose of them; however there is this little matter that you might find very noteworthy, Gabranth; the prisoner of Nalbina that was under your care and had escaped?"

He held his breath.

"He's been captured, and returned. My instinct tells me that I should wait for you, for I believe this matter should be dealt with by your hand. You were responsible for his death, two years before---but you persisted, that you needed this_ King Slayer_ to suffer cruelly."

Gabranth wanted to laugh--how Vayne usually prided himself to call_ not_ him--but the other, _the King Slayer_; as if he had not suggested the plan, even as far as going forth with the crime without Lord Gramis's permission. Gabranth was the perfect, brilliant tool, while Vayne--- he had stood by the Imperial soldiers while they held him down; he had uttered the truths and the lies. He believed, then, that that was the way of it.

Lord Gramis's peregrine son sent him a slight smile, showing a flash of teeth, "Gabranth, I concurred with your request because it was emotive. Truly, you stir me with your fraternal nature."

Vayne faced him, his eyes, were coeurl-like clear, sharpened against the shadow and light, "The matter with the Lady Ashelia? You have procured her yes?"

"Nay," the lie was easy, but he saw nothing in Vayne's intent gaze that held suspicion, "She has disappeared completely, I had her close to Sochen Cave Palace, and there were some enemies that barred my way."

He was not completely truth less, and continued the white lie,"there were a few problems to take care of on the way, a pack of bangaas who set their path before me, before she disappeared from my sight." Truths indeed.

"And this was the cause of your delay?" Vayne held out the rolled parchment, and Gabranth took it, firm within his gloved hand.

"Aye."

"I don't expect you to give up, Gabranth." He set his mouth into a straight line, "if she is found and you have been playing the knight to her highness, it would not bode well for you."

"I understand."

"Do you? Do you realize how much?" Vayne strode over to his side, his breath on Gabranth's uniform collar, "Tell me you actually believe this; for another Judge Magister to lose---after I lost Drace, would be distressing, don't you agree?"

He said nothing. Vayne snorted, took a deep breath and sighed.

"Go, Judge Gabranth, I believe you have an engagement to attend to, at once, in Nalbina."

He sent Vayne a slight bow, turning back to where he came from. _Basch!_

It was not long before he managed to set his ship at Nalbina's devastated aerodome; the black soot and crackled architecture of the structure that held most of the airship's dome once resplendent beauty was now decorated in a decapitated state of crumbling mass—all shoved to the side to allow a few private airships to park in an open unroofed space.

He had not walked too far, not walked too long, down the lengthy passage, down past the darkened hallways—past the smells of urine and clinging rusted chains that held the walls alongside the dungeons. He had ignored those wailing moans of prisoners in the adjoining rooms, where they were bound by roughened iron shackles—all thieves, murderers and deserters.

When he finally reached the last hall, turning into the tapered corridor, he walked through the rise of the shadowed door, paced with measured steps—his Judge Uniform clanked and his boots clicked with the last step, before the special cage that was held for his twin.

"You've returned to me, Basch." He simply said; his voice clear and devoid of emotion.

Basch's face was partly covered with the dried blood, his arms were held up high, showing his naked flesh to have been well-fed in the weeks that he managed to free himself, the line of scar on his forehead was prominent, while his shirt was stripped to reveal more scars along his chest---what Gabranth ascertained to be punishment by the cattail's sharpened tongue.

Basch could barely lift his head up, his one eye was swollen and cut, but he mumbled, "the princess---…" was all he managed to gasp.

"Aye, the princess." Gabranth's body stiffened, his eyes dark and swirling with renewed anger, "What about the princess? This is how you greet me? You ask the inquiry of your Princess? Ever true to your Dalmasca. You have failed again, Basch. Can you not see that? Look to you, feel you not the cuts of your flesh? Do they not answer your stubborn excuse for dignity?"

"Noah --… please, you must—help her."

"What do you know of her?" the anger in his voice could not be contained.

Basch's head moved, the blond strands which was much like Gabranth's were now caked together from the blood drying, and he could see that there was a swelling appearing on the side of his face.

Gabranth had seen his brother like this before, and had not felt a single drop of remorse, wanting desperately to know if Basch felt the pain—that same betrayal he felt years before.

"Noah, I heard--," Basch gasped out, his mouth showing a bubble of saliva, lips swollen from the continuous pounding he must have received, "that you were supposed to be with her."

"Word seems to travel, but she's not my concern."

"For all that is sacred, for our mother—your trial with me ends here, with me, not with her."

"I did not come here to discuss the Princess, pay no heed to that woman. She'll be taken care of, fear not, brother."

And he said the last word with a taste of acid in his mouth. It was strange---he had in Ashelia's company become too soft, the way he was almost _protective,_ but the vision of his twin –here before him held him in resolve. The pain to the gut was fierce, _strong_—and it rode him like the breath of a marlboro's taint—flayed and expunged of anything that was once sickeningly pure.

"_Please.."_ Basch begged, "Noah…"

Gabranth did not want to tell him, because there were walls that listened, but his words would still drive the anvil deep, "You continue to call me that name, even as I have once told you that I no longer use it; and if I ever see the Princess. I shall do as the Empire asks me to do." Even he believed it.

This confession drove Basch into shaking his chains, despite the pain he must be in, his swollen mouth moved, "Gods! What have you done, Noah?"

But he was no longer listening, the sound of his armour and boots clanked and clicked along the cemented floor, along the narrow corridor, past the open space, resounding once more the sound of a Magister—his cape billowing behind. The sound of his twin's cry, calling out his birth name, was the last he heard before emerging out of that dungeon and into the night, swallowing him whole.

* * *

_to be continued._


	15. Chapter 15: Breathe Deep True Slayer

_A/N: i make no apologies, and i warned any of you, if you stumble on this story, that this would get dark. Turn back now if you are easily offended._

**Breathe Deep, True Slayer:**

There was not a single light in the house, where his mother died; there was only the barren darkness that awaited him when he entered the front room, adjusted his eyes to see exactly where the covered fixtures sat, to where the staircase was situated. He could hear his own booted feet scrape across the tiled checkered floor, dusted and swept weekly by servants that were paid by his own monies. It was late, he knew—too late, perhaps well past the hour when even the Barheim passage stirred with unnatural life. He paused and turned to find another candle, searched it in the kitchen, lit from the strike of the match--to guide his way to his room. He knew the way, but suspicion bore down on him, tore his insides up like a knife—for how he had fallen too far, in her company. He could thank his twin for the fresh reminder, and he knew that the Princess was under his complete control. Even the Empire demanded it, _willed it._ The candle flickered, awakened the room with a yellow glow, causing shadows that followed.

He reached over to push his short-cropped hair over with his fingers, setting the candle down by the desk. With some effort, he took off his armour, one by one; his tired fingers unusually nimble as he stumbled with a numbing graceful movement, settling each piece by the stand, the coat-hangers, aligned neatly and securely; his helm steady atop the counter by the door. When he was done, down only to his light chause, the drawstring held it together; he blinked back the bite of tears and walked to her room, the candle following along the long hall.

He paused by her door, drew in a breath, wondered why he bothered. Why he instinctively wanted to know if she were still here. And was about to head towards his room when the click of the knob turned, and she was anxious, clutching at the robe she wore, a lone looped tie at her waist. At least, she had the decency to sleep without her armour and pink skirt. Her face was awash with a mixture of pleasure and concern, "Noah?"

He stiffened. _Nay._

Her hand touched tentatively on his shoulder, "That's your name, your true name, is that not so?"

"It is not becoming for a princess to search through a stranger's home."

She walked over so that she faced him; her head dipped a little to look into his eyes—for he bowed his head, his eyes downcast. Why had she not noticed the change of his tone?

"I- I apologize." She huffed, "I was bored, and, I found myself in your family's library; there were photographs and albums in plain view. Your name by Basch's was there."

"Save your apologies, Lady Ashe." He steeled himself away, too tired to argue, too tired to see straight; if he could release himself from her presence, allow sleep to overtake him, so that when the sun would come, there would be time to deal with her appropriately. He could not—could not trust himself at this point. Too angry, too infuriated to see clearly, only saw what he saw—the face of his twin begging for him, pleaded with mercy for the sake of her, never for him.

"Gabranth?" She returned to calling him that name, "What has happened? Has Vayne believed your tale?"

The candle flickered in haste, the shadows widening and lengthening, hers mingled with his; she drew herself closer, confident, "What has he done?" There was a sense of panic in her voice, "You're pale."

"Your concern for me is notable, Lady Ashe. Tell me, would your anxiety be just as genuine if I were my twin?"

"Basch?" she numbly replied, "What on Ivalice are you about, Gabranth? What has this to do with Basch?" Her voice taking on that superior air laced in anger and lined with apprehension. Then she scowled, "Have you seen him? By the gods!" she looked into his eyes, "You have…"

How she would have known was beyond his ability to understand—was there a sign on his forehead that was too obvious that he had? This infuriated him; he seized her shoulder, brought her arm up, "Lady Ashe, I think it's time you went to bed, the hour is late."

"Do not turn me away like this! What has happened?" She seethed, pulling her arm away, "you have seen him! Where is he? I must know!"

Gabranth reached for her again, his hand pulling her elbow towards the room, "As much as I am willing to cater to your demands, despite my commitment to the Empire, you must heed this, daughter of dalmasca. Let it go and go back to bed."

"I will not go to bed unless I want to!" she retorted hotly, the sound of her voice like a disgruntled child, "I refuse!"

"Spoiled Princess." He muttered, "Think well on your current situation, Lady Ashe. Think hard and well that you're under my protection, and do you believe that I offer you every safeguard you are so deserving of?"

"I don't know what has happened in the last five hours, Gabranth, but you are the same hateful, vile and murdering scum I thought you to be!" She was incensed; her eyes furious, the dark circles under her eyes were starting to show with the candle's glow.

He leaned in, his breath hot on her cheek, his hand gripped her elbow still, "I never claimed to be anything else, or claim to make you doubt or believe otherwise."

He would have reacted faster if he were not so fatigued, not lined with the haggardness that pulled at his senses, for her palm contacted fiercely against his cheek, leaving a red-welt there in its wake.

"Whore." He uttered low, and he knew that as soon as it flew out of his lips that he was damned._ Damned._ Because her eyes took on a steel-caged look, of one that would call the maelstrom bolt if she needed to.

But he was too irate to reason, his candle dropping to the floor as it shut out and rolled against the tile, inhaling the darkness and cloaking them in the shadows. He grabbed her, lifted her off her feet so she may be dumped ceremoniously on the bed and if he had ropes, he'd bind her to it, until she slept till the day was up; and he would be rid of her until he came back to her after he took his rest.

_That was his intention._

All along, because he despised her, truly did, and hated himself for thinking---for thinking that she represented those pure—those sickly pure things he had remembered. Before his heart gave way, and because she struggled, moaned against his mouth; her fingers kneaded his flesh, and prickled at his nape; but it was her body pressing against his, the heat of her thighs at first pushing at him, then riding up along his straining legs, pushing her groin against his.

This was never his intention, and would have left her to sleep, but she fought, then pulled, struggled then gripped, took her nails and dug into his flesh, throwing her head back as he controlled his urge—_gods! Not like this. Nay_. The tie of her robe was discarded, slid smoothly off as she twisted, wearing nothing underneath; her thighs gripped his hips tight, as if she did not understand, as if to keep him there—and his body plunged, as the drawstrings loosed, his cock heavy and throbbing. Her breath hissing as he slid easily, her low moaning cry muffled against his neck.

He was infuriated, his senses pinched at him as he was met violently with her own hips, pace for pace; her furious bating turned into breathy cries, her hand gripping his arms, the other snaring the sheet into a crumbling, wrinkled mass within her fist. And when he was slowly ebbing away, the length of his cock buried deep—her taking it all in, shuddering against him, he stared down at her. He was breathing hard, gazing at her with shock. Ashelia parted her lips, releasing a soft shallow breath as her fluttering eyelashes relaxed against the tips of her flushed-tinted cheeks.

It galled him,_ this_. He slid off her, spent; he knelt there between her legs, uttering in a low disbelieving tone, "_Fuck._ You wanted this. As much, as I." He admitted that truth, his body responded in the way that it was truth: he wanted her, but wanting her and liking her were two different meanings. This was what he wanted, right? He seared that thought in his tortured mind because this was what his brother would have liked to see. He had taken care of the Empire's request, and with the other, to throw the worse to his twin.

She stared at him with the same horror, shaking her head, her disheveled hair like slits of moonlight around her pale-strickened face.

She cried out, there were no tears in her eyes, just pure odium, "You--!" He knew what she wanted to say, but remembered her promise, and promises to a desert's Princess, was perhaps true as the lifewick in a rare hunt. She took one of the pillows and threw it at his face, "I hate you! You'll pay for this!"

"Indeed. I shall." But as he looked down at her, she was breathing slow, allowing her bared chest to rise and fall, nipples hard as the sheen of sweat clung to them, her trembling thighs moved, sliding along his. Gabranth found to his discomfort, his cock hard again. His lax fingers rested against her leg, until he pressed them against her flesh, pulling her body up against his.

"Gabranth." She sucked in her breath, half anticipating, half angry, "_Please."_ But she did not resist his bold touches, even when he smoothed his hands over the width of her taut belly, placing his fingers where he found her wet between her thighs. And with one swift move, he pulled her up and slid his body backwards, lying on his back, hers was poised above his. She caught her breath as he gently pushed her hips down, his cock hard against her flesh. He paused long enough to look into her eyes, saw the mixture of anguish and longing.

* * *

_to be continued._


	16. Chapter 16: Ashelia's Silent Crown

**Ashelia's Silent Crown; **_Le Morte Darthur_

_The Crown in which she seeks; A Knight to her King._

_She has tried her husband's fumbling kisses,_

_And Sucks greedily upon a foreigner's tongue._

* * *

He did not intend her to go through with it; in fact, he half expect her to claw her way out, to send the rooftops caving in, but that would take some time—some energy as she had already spent some of it in his struggling arms, and when she took on that look of defiance—of something between control and the baring of her teeth was evident of her own--he suspected--to command. She pushed at his hand, snatched it up, where they were settled on her hips to bear her body down upon his cock, taking his wrist and settling them against the bed, where her hand smashed. Her body slid down, slow, taking his cock head first, her breath soft and lips parting as he could see her concentrated effort. He shuddered as she took him, sliding down to take his entire length, met his hips, till her bottom sat against his skin.

"Ashelia," he mumbled, half surprised, half disoriented by this change of events. Gabranth would have taken the fury—the sharp tongue, the bolts from the sky, or even a hidden blade stuck between his ribs at the offense, but he was being led instead of leading, where she had struck into his body like a torturing device. He had uttered her name, even when her bold hips stabbed with measure strides, and she was leaning her head back, panting. She held his shoulders with one hand, digging her short nails along the sweat-slick skin, and her other still flattened against his wrist, held it there like a bind, while she rode high, low, breathy sighs mingled with her muttering his birth name.

He thought he would mind, but he did not, because she was Ashelia atop him, Ashelia with her dew-sweat tendrils sticking to her face, her temples, lips wet as she flicked out a tongue to graze them. Ashelia, who was not his princess, does not serve, who his brother served. He thought he would go mad, mad with the knowledge that she did want this, that she was knowingly taking her unvirgined body like an instrument and stabbed with measured strokes.

She had called out his name, the name he despised even as he wanted, wanted to pull her body down so that he may take control---but even as she allowed him to switch into a position in which, she may be comfortable—her legs gripped his hips, calves flexed, tensed against his waist—and wrapped them so that he may push deep. He did not know how long it took, the second time he spent himself, because she was persistent, demanding, and pulled away only when he tried to press his mouth against her parted lips. He only stared, just once at her refusal, even when he was bearing down, his cock lodged deep, and only once did she stare back at him, her lashes fluttered open, to show him that she hated him. With the steel-sharp gaze, her mouth curled into a snarl and pulled him further into her—meeting his hips with brutal, deliberate strokes.

When he cried out his release, felt the bite that seem to tear at his skin, her teeth sunk into his shoulder, he lay there—shuddering until he was still, listening to her steady breathing, did not release her teeth where they painfully stabbed into his flesh. Then, she fisted her hands, pushing at his chest, "Off me, now!"

It was a command, and he thought, prepared for her wrath: this was when she would try and fight—where she would take his body and find the wounds, but she curled her way atop him again, sliding her hand to where he lay limp, touching his balls, her eyes possessing nary a bit of shame. He could not find the will to stop her, could not bring his hand to still the roving hand that gripped his slick cock, wet with her sweat and was once part of her wet heat. He managed, croaking out helplessly, an agonized cry, "Ashelia, what are you doing?" It was a half-hearted attempt, he knew, even as she gazed like a satisfied purring coerl-feline and sleek, her body stretched above, sweat lining her brow and her breasts pointed high, with nipples untouched.

"As much as I concede my unwanted ardor for you, Noah, I feel that the situation requires another experimental, yet firm handle, and I believe your body responds quite readily at the decision."

"You are truly a witch," He whispered, sucked in through his teeth, as her slick-warm hands slid down the path of his growing cock, her other hand surprisingly gentle as fingers weighed his sac, and he could only groan aloud, as she plunged her body down like a taut bow, a deliberate 'oomph' cry released from deep within her throat.

Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca had found something much _much_ more effective to use against him.

In the following day, much later, after they had eaten and bathed, after she had gently forced his lips against the heat between her thighs—the bath water swirling around their naked bodies---it was late, when they had ventured forth into the mountains, past the Paranima Rift, only stopping once, when she pushed him against the wall of his ship—constricted as it was---to grind her hips against his, the ship's engine purring like a sharp-moanful humming that painfully reflected the agony in his eyes. He no longer donned his armour because she said; it was much too bulky and impractical.

Told him, as she slid a tongue between his lips, with her fingers spread along his naked taut stomach, pulling the shirt aside, until she found what she wanted—that he should give much to the people of Mt. Bur-Omisace. They needed food and shelter, and he tried to console her fears by telling her that the kiltas took care of their needs. Housed them with tents and supplies, but she did not relent, said that he must give up a part of his sum to those in desperate need, and the rest--she whispered, a satisfying purr against his ear--that the rest shall go to weapons, for she sought more than the identity to free her; she sought power. With him, through him, it was possible. He despised her, he thought, hated and adored her, like the rising sun chasing the day's end; and that somehow, his brother must be laughing now, if gods willing he could—because he surrendered once, twice beneath her eager fingers, beneath her lips and she was, the celebrated Queen in this realm--took her crown like a graceful, seductive avenging desert bloom, where even, as destitute as she was—used him like a serviceable knight, ready at the beck and call of her highness. But there were times when he took control, knew when she melted against him, where her body responded unwillingly, when his tongue and hands took instead of gave, and he could find then a measure of satisfaction in this mad, _mad _relationship.

Upon the snow-buried hills of Mt. Bur-Omisace, they had stumbled upon the first weary travelers and Ashelia guided him away from the more prominent travelers, to where two pairs of large little eyes peeped out from behind a ragged looking female hume, their tiny fingers clasping desperately at the frayed material. Ashelia sent Gabranth a nod, to unhook his monies where they hung around his belt; he had given a bag of coins to the elder female hume that accompanied two small children, barely wearing much with their rags and tattered cloaks full of holes. And with it, he received a generous toothless smile, small hands reached up, tentatively, touching his gloved hands; they were awed by such a tall, distinctively Archadian hume, he recieved a dirty child's smile, gazing happily at him for the ray of hope. He felt, constricted chest and pain beneath, and was, much to his consternation, an unwilling victim in the stranglehold of Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca's schemes.

When they walked away, a generous smile on Ashelia's face, she gripped his arm, "I could almost rejoice at your kindness, Gabranth," she purred too sweetly, uttering his surname only when in public, and viciously, almost cruelly taunting him with his birth name when they were alone again, enclosed within the tiny confines of his ship---naked and uninhibited by outward influence or appearances. She was insatiable because she wanted to learn, wanted to know a male hume's body, because her limited experience with Rasler, once, twice had been awkward fumbling and ungraceful--this was what she told him as she allowed him to push her against the confined ship's wall. Her hand had reached up, almost caressing against his profile, arching her back as he pulled her agaisnt him; he instinctually kissed her open palm there, like a servicable knight.

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	17. Chapter 17: My Brother, Dearest

_A/N; if you're still here after those last chapters, the worse, I think is over. _

**The Past, Landis:**

_**Never make a companion equal to a brother. ~Hesiod**_

_+8+_

* * *

He could smell the sharp sting of thunder in his nostrils, the wet downpour on his lips, and the strange distant reddened wet soil, rich with iron and metals rise up to seep into his skin, like a mist-covered ghost. The rain poured, as inexorable as his feet took him to the nearest thinly veiled sanctuary; and he could not see, finding only the tree that sheltered him enough to fight off the raging storms. He was soaked through the bone, his flesh cold from the wetness that clung to his shirt and shorts, his bare legs and feet sodden and the shoes he wore squeaked from the water.

He felt the chill creep into his body, hugged his shoulders, back against the large solid tree, and fell gradually, inching down to the saturated ground. He heard his name being called, in the electric storm, tried to see through the sleet of rain, and his brother was upon him, closing the distance.

"Noah," Basch breathed, "We were looking for you, why have you left?" He too was soaked through; his hands were now pressed on the tops of his knees where he was bending over to catch his breath.

"I wanted to get out, to think, and I don't need you or mother to cling to my every move." He didn't mean to be harsh, but he was feeling churlish and wanted peace. The storm had been brewing for a few days, perhaps, not a single drop poured from the sky and the black, heavy cloud that hovered possessively around their property held back, for those days until he was sent crying, because he had lost his pet chocobo, the one he had raised since he was a child. And found the chocobo in a field, eaten by marauding seeqs, infringed upon the land, and grinned when they saw the boy Noah. How they managed to snare Noah's little bird was too easy, as the chocobo had been roaming the land freely, too trusting, and Noah had been searching and searching.

When he had come in contact with the seeqs, they tried to throw berserk potions on him, even as young as he was—lean and honed with hard work, they presumed him to be helpless. Upon the second attempt to avoid the spell, it seeped into his bones, like a burning itch, enflaming his senses and he ran headlong like a charging Leynir into the two seeqs. He was cut, bruised, sent back with scratches and minor injuries, but the berserk spell had not worn off. Noah again charged, killing the seeq that tried to raise its fat arms, proceeding to stomp him to the ground.

It was Basch who had come running along, with a long bow in his hand and steadied his aim to land the arrow upon the second seeq's large belly. When they were disposed of, the brothers had to wait until the madness within the twin's blood simmered slowly away, and when it was clear that Noah's body tone resumed to its normalcy—his eyes took on the same hue of lucid blue, Basch reached over with his hand over his twin, "Let us create a funeral for Marten, he would have wanted that."

Indeed, it was a mock grave, because the remains of Marten the chocobo were only the bones and feathers, and Noah wiped the tears with the back of his hand. But the pain was so fresh he did not want to spend time with company, skulking away to be alone. He liked to feel the fresh breeze that sent its way down from the Northern hills of faraway Rozarria, the empire he had studied in his textbooks at school, and listened to the sounds of the river bubbling down a narrow path that crossed the Landis territories.

But the heavy rain cloud had unleashed a mighty storm, raining down a loud, threatening thunder with sharp, multiple lightnings that streaked across the skies and ignited the plains. And he knew, somehow that Basch would come looking for him.

"Noah, we'll get you another one, I promise you that." Basch's voice was stern as usual, and though they were barely fourteen, he thought his brother's tone took on a deeper quality; while his-- smooth and cultured, like his mother's, seemed less menacing. Their voices had been changing, as their hormones attuned to the growing demands of their bodies.

He shook his head, the tears were dry but the storm still splattered on his face, his blond hair had darkened, stuck to his scalp by the rain, "Nay, Basch, you don't understand, you've never attached yourself to things, to people, to even beasts."

"That's not true," Basch frowned, held his body up, lean he was then, like himself—and the lightning flashed again, lighting up the world where they stood, underneath the great big tree, "I very much care for you."

Noah took a deep breath, pushed the wet strands away from his eyes, his face, "I know that," he whispered. And raised himself up from the wet ground, the mud stain stuck to the back of short pants, but he did not care then—his arms went round his twin, and he felt then, the closeness like two stars in a constant constellation suspended eternally in the sky.

When Noah woke to find himself Gabranth again, he found tears in his eyes at the fresh memory, the dreams that clung to his subconscious. He turned to find Ashelia next to him. There was a slight irritation in his chest at the nearness of her, and he could not find it in himself to love her. Not when he she hated him. He had always clung to his number one rule, despite what they had shared.

She was awake, her face in the dark unclear, but her hair rained down around her shoulders, the shadow of her figure etched in his memory, her voice, steady and could not release from the authoritative tone that was there, "Are you all right?"

_Was he too careless & loud in his dream? Did she hear anything?_ His chest tightened, "Nay, I mean, Aye, I am well enough."

He was half expecting her to reach for him, to lay her finger upon his chest, spread them to touch his corded muscles that she liked, lowering to boldly touch him there—so he may service her again; but, she did not, and he was, silently grateful. He would have to refuse, but refusing her when his body responded did not bode well for him.

She seemed to have allowed him some respite, instead snuggled within the blankets, and a sweet, almost deep even breathing indicated her sleep. The back of his arm slung over his forehead, as he stared up at the ceiling, lay there on that bed---where he spent the last hours teaching the Princess the art of sex, and almost laughed at that notion. For he was far from an expert, having few lovers over the years, but mainly because he took his lovers with constancy; he could only recall the aggressive hands that used to pull at the clips of his armour, the steady purr that sounded deep and husky when Drace would secure his presence without the eyes and ears of the Empire. It was a constancy that he & Drace alone shared, without attachments; and he respected her, much too much. He could even take in the contemplation that Judge Drace would have been the love of his life, second only to his twin, but he had spoiled that future with the blade that killed her.

He had cried for his chocobo when he was young, had cried for his mother when she was sick, cried for his twin—cutting him deeper than a tournesoul, the sting reddened his eyes, and he could not, cry no longer. It took the long yawning years for him to end his pain, steeled his heart like a man who has enough of disappointments and possessed the steady hand of justice. He wanted, wanted to reach out to Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca and hold her, even if there was nothing but lust and need between them.

He could not tell her that he was sorry for what had transpired, because that would mean he had been wrong all along. _Would he have done it again?_ Aye, he told himself, felt her naked leg press against his uncovered thigh—he would.

They had visited the Gran Kiltas the day before, but he was under a dream state and could not be disturbed; another day or two and he would be available. Ashelia had almost wanted to shake the poor robed man in his feeble aging state, her countenance was rigid and fierce, and she had stormed silently out of that long chamber room with one look to him, to tail after her.

While at present, she curled herself into him, peacefully close, that he could smell the sweet fragrance of the bathing water she bathed in the evening before resting between his thighs. When he turned to her, his arm pulling her close, he could see her exposed side; the rawness of her soul—she was Dalmasca's future, possessed the line of patriarch monarchies before her. He could even feel that she would have been a man if not for the trick of fate making her female.

"Gabranth?" she sighed against his neck, "Take me back to my homeland, please."

"Lady Ashe, this matter has been discussed," he tried to say, but she planted her lips against his, kissed him gentler than her last, "Not to the insurgences, nor to my palace, but to the Nabudis and Nalbina."

He took her face, gripped it gently within his hand, looking into her Dalmascan eyes, "that is a place that has not seen life save for the beasts that haunt there. Why there?"

"I want to—…" she gasped, "I want to visit my husband's grave." He saw her fighting back the tears, could not help himself, because there was true pain behind her eyes.

He had never seen her cry and he could even judge that she did not allow anyone to see the tears, deemed it to be a sign of weakness.

Gabranth must have felt her aching loneliness, when she closed her eyes slowly, then tight, because it was true—the princess did not allow her tears to be shown, and he drew her body close, held her until she reached to hold him, burying her face into his chest.

He sighed, acknowledged the persistent guilt, that he has not visited his mother's tomb in awhile.

"There is something I need to do first." Gabranth would have to leave her here when he went back to the palace, went back to report his duties, get some work done, pick up a few bouquets that sold on the open stalls in Nalbina, for he had to go back to see his brother. He worried about Basch's condition, and hoped he was not too late to stop the beatings. When Ashelia called him a monster, he wondered, truly, if he were. He felt her tremble against him, she moved so that her naked body was pressing against his—her mouth on his jaw, half parted, breath against his neck. He would have to contend to the fact that she was seducing him even in her unspoken tears, her fingers grazing excruciatingly slow along his flesh; and while she would call him a monster, her legs spread for him, her fingers pressed against his rear, pushing him into her; and a low painful cry was her answer as he entered her.

_+8+_

* * *

**Vayne & Cid:**

"Did I win yet?" Cidolphus peeked in, his teeth showing as he sent Vayne a huge grin, "I get to have my new laboratory?"

He strolled in, leaning to an invisible misty Venat like a best friend, whispering and nodding, "I seem to have been informed that Gabranth has taken the bait when the treasonous Captain of Dalmasca had been apprehended."

Vayne was pleased as well, and though he does not show his growing pleasure, like the grinning and enthusiastic doctor, he swished his dark hair back with the flick of his wrist, "The bait has been set and done, and you shall find that there shall be no erection of laboratories for you, I'm afraid."

"What? Do my ears deceive me? As I recall, it was I who informed where the despairing captain was, and who he companied with. Was it not I who suggested that he be the one to spur our loyal hound to the gallows?"

Vayne heaved a long sigh, his hands still clasped behind his back, and he paced slowly back and forth underneath the garish red & black banner, a curving snake-like image seem to glow like a hot brand.

"We shall have to wait until the hound returns with the results of our Princess, for I believe in the faith of the apathy he possesses for his twin; because, it is very much like mine own."

Dr. Cid raised his brow, curious youthful eyes sparkled like a child within an old man's agile body, "Ah, to be sure, let us not overestimate his relationship for his brother, as much as you and your previous siblings had---.." and he was so free with his speech around the consul, because he was the good doctor to the end, madness and genius-like minds who conspired against the emotional souls that stirred hume-kind; he had it on good authority to know that humes were greedy, like all good Rozarrians and good Archadians, and the lesser races like those of beastly features, would be relegated to employment like secondary help and mercenaries, traders who took low pay, and heavy labor work. But none ever stepped near the clean, swept streets of Archadia, and some have only managed to be welcomed along the poor slums; of the stink-infested downgrade of Old Archades.

"I find Gabranth's fraternal affection to resonate so closely to mine own," Vayne confessed again, "it is not difficult to see that he has been advantageous to displace the king off its throne," and he walked over the standing one tiered round table, the chessboard, open bare, upon it held the fallen chess pieces—black and white along the path of the alternating squares. The Queen's figure was rolled up against the White Knight, and the Queen's King was placed securely outside its boundary, tucked away.

Cidolphus stared down at the pieces, leaned over a bit to listen to something Venat was confiding, "let us hope that Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca gets something out of it as well," his white gloved finger was held above the pawn, but settled on the rook.

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	18. Chapter 18 : Breakfast in Bed

_A/N; thank you, Obsidian Thunder, I really appreciate that you're actually enjoying this long fanfic; as for the Vayne and Cid discussion that you were confused of—go back to chapter 7, maybe that'll help a little. I'll reveal more of it in the later chapters._

**_Kissing don't last: cookery do._  
**_George Meredith_

_-8-_

* * *

He found her gone in the morning, having little sleep; the side of her bed empty and ruffled. He managed to grab his trousers which were hung carelessly on the chair by the desk, pulling them on and tried to search for her in the house. Perhaps she had gone to make breakfast, and that thought almost made him smile. Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca prepare breakfast? Unheard of. When he walked down the hallway, he caught the smell of bread and cooked eggs. Shock greeted his senses as he inhaled the aroma of food to be quite delicious. She must have found her way in the kitchen; there was still some left over shelved food in the pantry; and, though he did not take his meals here-- usually dined at the Solidor household or at the barracks-- emergency leftovers were stacked inside the kitchen cabinets.

He walked into the kitchen, raked his hair back with his fingers; his eyes took in the domestic situation, and gaped openly, "Ashelia?"

He had forgotten to call her by her noble title. Although this was not so necessary, he reasoned, during the course of becoming caught within the heat of the moment; she looked at him as if he slapped her. But she must have remembered that he was not her knight, or served her in any way. Except, in bed.

"Good morning to you too, Gabranth." She said evenly; her hand held a metal and black rubber spatula, held it like a weapon, "I cooked us something to eat. I hope you don't mind."

His eyes took in the entire fiasco: granted, the smell was delicious, causing his mouth to water, but her skills of cleaning up were in desperate need of aid; there were large spotted egg shells splattered in separate pieces, the cold slab strips of pale reddened flesh that were perhaps, he indicated--wild wyrdhare mutton from salikawood, were still laid out along the wooden board. There was also a carton of creamy liquid, the small remains spilling over the counter, dripping slow in thick crème' and he guessed that was the pancake mix. Two large glass cache of milk and fruit juice stood side by side, next to a basket of various lumps of warm bread.

Gabranth walked over to the basket of lumpy brown and white bread, saw how some of it looked extraordinary in shape, took one into his palm, felt the spongy warmth there, while enjoying the baked fragrance. She was watching him with a guarded expression while he brought it to his mouth; and truth be told, he was slightly fearful of what he may find in the bread. Gabranth had always faced his adversaries with more courage than fear, more arrogance than humility, and when he bit into it, he was moaning with pleasure.

"Amazing." He breathed, mouth filled with the melted concoction, chewing thoughtfully, "Ashelia, your skills in the kitchen far outweigh your skills in bed."

He was met with a piece of bread on the side of his head, and he was grateful that it was quite soft that he had not felt a thing.

"Continue in that manner and your conceit will never land me in bed again."

He slid his eyes to her, a crooked grin on his face, "I doubt that," and insolently gave her a look which held heavy promise.

"I do not know how to cook, Gabranth." She confessed, turned quickly away from and proceeded to use the spatula to turn the sizzling slab of meat over so it may roast. The smoke emerging out of the big heavy iron pan made her swat the air before her, and he was behind her, looking over her shoulder.

"Liar." He playfully teased, his hands over her waist, fingers slightly touching her hips and found that she had worn a kind of apron so that her royal garb remained spotless of splattered oil and powdered yeast. "Then what are you doing?"

"I used to watch the servants in my palace, in the great hall, and in the kitchen cook and prepare food."

"Little Ashelia?" He thought of how she must have looked then—a tiny princess with pale-brown hair, like moonlight and the soft russet hide of a common alpha wolf, gazing at the busy servants bustling to and fro to get work done.

She gazed at him over her shoulder, sending him a look of contempt, "I managed to actually watch what was going on."

"Why would a little princess be interested in such menial tasks?"

"I was a curious hume, I suppose, I was also intrigued by the various races that had help raise me; my mentors, my tutors; my maidservants were female seeqs, and one hardly ever finds them outside of Rabanastre. But that was before the war."

"Hmmm, I had learned a bit on their race, that the male seeqs keep their females at home." He pulled her body close, bent down to kiss the curve of her neck, "I rather like that idea."

"Chauvinistic, aren't you? " she grumbled irritably and instinctively pulled away, "Please, I'm trying to finish here."

"Will I survive your cooking, daughter of dalmasca, or will I end up wanting more, the way I do you…" He breathed, the tease evident in his tone, intent on annoying her further, his fingers pressing at her waist, gliding downward to the curve of her hips, "it looks like you're cooking for an entire army of my soldiers." he placed his hand over the length of her hair where it hung loosely on her shoulders and pulled it aside, baring her neck, "I rather think they'll enjoy this, they don't often get decent meals when they work like a pack of roving dogs at their station for hours on end."

"Then you should see to it that they do get a decent meal." She sniffed, and sighed as he flicked out a tongue along her ear, "Gabranth, if you're looking for more of last eve, I'm afraid you're sadly misguided that I'd give in to you while our stomachs are empty."

But he was enjoying this little sport, seeing how she looked so utterly adorable in her domesticity—it almost reminded him of home, when he was younger-- before the war--and it pierced his chest, hurt him and also brought him an inner joy. It didn't matter that she was a princess, it didn't matter that she hated him, because right this moment, she looked to him, of someone he could want, even if it were only a farce.

She attempted to sashay away from his attentions only to be met again by the push of his body against hers, locked her between the counter and himself, leaning down to steal a kiss. Ashelia turned away, her leg sliding along his, until his lips touched her collarbone, pulling down the apron until he was met with the thin cloth that secured the rise of her breasts.

She moaned softly as he pulled the material down, his hands gripping her waist, felt her squirm a little—and he knew—the way he has known her body in the last few days, that she wanted this. He could take great satisfaction in the fact that she enjoyed the touch of his hands---the touch of the king slayer's hand, roaming over her heated skin, creating the low sighs she hated. When her legs trembled, he grabbed her hips, placed her up on the counter, pulling her skirt up; the small fabric that separated the moist entrance to where he wanted to be barred his path. He was met with no resistance and more fervor on her side when he hurriedly loosed the ties of the front of his pants. Reaching behind Asehlia, he swiped with one smooth move, shoved the remnants on the table top off tumbling on the floor, clearing the path.

It was a quarter past, a little later when they finally sat down to taste the Princess's attempt at cooking. Gabranth devoured much of the soft bread, which was no longer warm, drunk up the remaining carton of milk, chewed the rather-almost too tough meat, which he would not blame the princess, for she had left much of the flesh overcooked. The eggs were cold, but flavoured well in his taste buds, moist and almost fluffy in its texture. He watched her eat, but she did not eat like she usually did. She had a healthier appetite than most hume females he had known, in fact—close enough, to a seeq's female, but seemed to have used a lot of what she ate, converting that energy to her quickenings and skillful swordplay.

"You're not hungry?" He sat back, comfortable, leaned and threw his arm over the back of the chair, wiped the edge of his mouth, and fingers into the rumpled kitchen cloth of any remaining oils and crumbs, throwing it onto the side of the empty plate.

"I've been thinking."

He raised a brow, "You're always thinking, Princess."

"You said you would go today into the city, to work, and to do something important?" she raised her eyes at him, and he was prepared for what she was going to ask, for he had a distinct feeling it was going to be something he would not like.

"That is correct."

"I should like to accompany you." She boldly gazed at him, challenging him to argue back.

He shook his head, "I can't take that risk, not in Archades."

"Yes you can, Gabranth. I can easily disguise myself, and no one actually believes I live, everyone in Ivalice, besides a select few—know that I live and breathe. You saw the humes on that campsite that evening? They did not recognize me. It has been that way for two years. I could blend in."

"You do not even look Archadian."

"Is there no other traveler that venture into your city?" She got up and started to put the plates away, looked at the entire mess, and wrinkled her nose. Bravely, she dumped all the remaining mess unto a heap atop the low dipping sink, until it piled into a mountain of messy utensils, pots, plates and food bits. He had a feeling she would not touch it ever again. His paid help came once a week to water the plants, and dust both floors of every room. They may fall down from shock to see what she had left for them. He shook his head mentally.

"Why are you so eager to go with me?"

"I absolutely refuse to be trapped here, Gabranth!" She turned to him, fisted her hand and slammed it upon the table, "I hate it. I detest living like this! I despise being in this situation, where I'm not free to do as I please."

She had stomped her foot like a churlish child, and he was met with the angry, heated self-indulgent child-woman one minute, while other incidents---he saw her as this composed, mature woman who could take on the world of Ivalice. When Vayne had suggested that she was not ready for the throne or would not be fit to rule, he understood.

"You are not trapped here, cease your exaggeration, you and I know why you're here."

"You're truly a monster to not see the situation clearly, Gabranth. How can you not realize that I am nothing here, and I have done the most unthinkable! I have shamed even my ancestors to lie with you!"

"You did not seem to mind all those times." Gabranth could not understand her ways, where she believed in the past of her bloodline, ah—but she came from a long line of dalmascan kings. Even as she stands there like a spoiled princess, she cannot understand that there were humes who suffered far worse. She was generous, that he saw—when she could not stand the condition of the poor that trekked to find shelter and food on Mt. Bur-Omisace, and he could see that she wanted to give, see that she allowed herself to learn from childhood how to cook. Something that was not a requirement for a princess; but she was young; yet, he could no longer justify that reason in his head when she continually lost control like this. Perhaps, he was being too harsh, because she was after all—under his protection. The next words uttered from her mouth confirmed her feelings.

"Am I live in constant shame? Here?" she spread her arms out, bitterness brewing in her eyes, "Under your roof, my enemy's roof no less, and find that I have no one in the world to go to? You would not even tell me if you had seen your brother!"

He tensed, gritted his teeth, "Why are you so bent on bringing him up at every turn? Do you really believe that he would protect you more than I could?" And he drew his hand over his eyes as if to shut her image away, "Gods! Fine. You shall have your way then."

He heard her cry of joy, the intake of her breath and the satisfaction behind it, refusing to look; because, he was already rising up from that chair, walking back to his rooms so he may take a quick bath, and prepare to leave.

When he was almost out the door, he told her quietly, "but you must wear new clothes, there's a set of robes that my mother never used, you may look through them in her room. It's on the fourth door past the library."

When he washed his hair, cupped his palm to splash the water in his face, a steamed mirror greeted him, and he wiped away the fog that blocked his image. He stared at the image there—the wet blond tendrils smoothed back from his hand, the nose that was part Archadian, part Landisian, the skin tone, not like Basch, but much like the north's climate of smooth, almost pale skin. And while the sun has warmed him recently, spending some time in Dalmasca, his tone coloured slightly without the use of the regular armour he wore. When the fog started to blot out his image, he took a deep breath, exhaled and reached for the hung towel by the partly open window. He would have to either reach Basch or visit his mother. Which one was his priority?

He leaned against the moist wall, the steam had started dissipating, and he reached up to curl his fingers in his wet hair, stood there naked until the Archades chill blew steadily inside, sending prickly sensations along his flesh. He has decided to see Basch again. But, would he be able to trust Ashelia alone in Archades? Surely, he cannot take her with him to the dungeons of Nalbina---that would be unthinkable. No one was allowed, save for him and the stationed soldiers that were assigned there to watch over the prisoners. But, to see Basch look upon the Princess would be too cruel, and his lips stretched slow into a smile at the thought; because, he reasoned, he must look the part of the monster Ashelia called him.

_

* * *

_

_to be continued._


	19. Chapter 19: Imperial City of Archades

_A/N: thank you, C-Fair Valentine, I didn't want to 'idealise' Ashe in this story; so it's nice to hear that you liked to read about her weaknesses as well. I think it humanizes her more._

* * *

**Solidor:**

Vayne sat idly staring at the unrolled documents, which were piled for his attention on his desk. Reviewing each one, he took the fast-melting wax which would seal some of the parchments in place, further placing the secured articles in one neat pile. Settling back after everything was clear; he procured a map of Ivalice and began to study it, gazing at the locations where he had stuck coloured coded pins. Each pin had an assigned place, where all the mines, hidden and known where in the entire world. There were a various ones that were publicized in Rozarria, and left that area in the grey for later use. Picking up the jeweled goblet of dry tasting claret on his desk, he took a sip and sat back with a leisure look at the large window on the other side of the room. The unusually balmy rays poured in and touched his desk like a warm blond caress, lining the red carpet with alternating colours of bright-gold red and murky maroon. He was glad that Basch has returned to Nalbina, and was glad that there was no indication of his ever contacting the Marquis in Bhujerba; though it was with some amusement that there was, with suspicion that the king slayer had been privy to some contact with sky-pirates.

It was not clear, however with whom and Vayne was not overtly concern with the likes of such irritants. Those, he realized spent much too much time searching Ivalice for treasures, scoring the skies and becoming quite a nuisance. It was not without some kind of favour that they usually kept to their own, spending much time in Balfonheim Port and various locations that catered to their tastes. Still, the matter with Basch was not over; not only was this fastidious twin the security he needed to keep Ondore devoted, but to keep Gabranth loyal as well. He had no doubt that Basch was an extreme difficulty for the Judge; and he had managed to keep the knowledge from Gabranth for a very long time that Basch was still alive; however, when time came for his departed sire's loyal Judge to acquire the exactness of the situation, it was with some good use. And he supposed it aided Vayne quite well when he barely suggested that he would have just once, said the word-- to cut the throat across his elder twin's neck. The results were as he expected, as Gabranth stepped in, suggesting that his twin was better alive than dead, to further humiliate, in fact—but not saying it quite so plain. But when Gabranth had seen his twin in such a pathetic state, even the young hound believed that it was better his twin die before his blade, than to live in such a miserable state.

It was amusing to note the affection he had for his brother when he first saw him chained miserably in an iron cage, living worse than any beast there, worse than a dead, unknown and unclaimed thief; had heard the unemotional clear voice of Gabranth, asking why his brother lived, why he refused to take his last breath. Basch's words were gruff, defiant and still maintaining the security that he may live to see the light of day. _To silence Ondore._

His twin was not pleased.

Vayne would have to think on the sky-pirates that had accompanied Gabranth's twin, and if they planned on recovering their good Captain back into their fold. Vayne would presume that those of that ilk would never come back for anything other than if there were some kind of gain—like say, a fortune that was worth the taking. The good Captain would all be the treasure they would find in the depths of Nalbina.

He picked up the jeweled goblet, stared into the swirling burgundy fluid; brought the aroma under his nose, and made a wrinkled face. He sighed audibly, thinking that there was not enough good tasting spirits to whet his palate. And the mad doctor had been so persistent with the laboratory suggestions, dropping hints from left to the right, above and below. Just the other day he was met with a mapped out plan of a new erected site right outside his chamber; almost stepping into the pop-up building design that looked suspiciously like the Draklor laboratory. Instead of the customary look of the lab, there was an added floor and more windows; not to mention there was even a large roomy swimming pool that would have been planted in on the rooftop. Vayne raised his dark sleek brow at the constructed miniature building plan and shook his head, almost sighing aloud.

During his hours with Larsa, under the cover of sun and viewing the traffic in the skies above the city's skyscraper, they dined on traded wine from Rozarria and nibbled on small square, tender and rare pyrolisk-shark from Phon Coast sliced and medium-rare, warmly prepared into wheat sandwiches. Soon, they were confronted with mimes who had managed to sneak their way into their little gentleman's private club—bearing costumes that looked suspiciously like the Draklor's laboratory; they were wearing the picturesque image across their shirts and trousers, then with their quick, almost creepily white powdered-faces, they mouthed a soundless 'o' and pulled their shirts over their heads; and yet, another image of a newly built laboratory was shown across their chests.

Vayne's furious expression remained fixed, angry but pale, his mouth a thin line of disapproval, "Who allowed you in here!" He was about to call the soldiers to take these pathetic mimes away, but his little brother had stopped him.

"Nay, brother, there is no need, please, allow them to finish."

Larsa was cheerfully amused, finding the troupe of mimes quite entertaining for an afternoon tea-break. Vayne groaned into his coffee and shook his head, bowing his head into the cup, piercing his temple with his fingers. He must have a long discussion with the doctor.

**Imperial City:**

Gabranth lied. There were non-humes traveling to the Imperial City of Archades, and she would blend in just fine. The market place was bustling with all manner of life, and those who were non-humes usually did quick business within the city's walls to trade or purchase goods that they needed before moving on. But they were still rare and few; much of the traffic along the streets were congested with street-ears, historians dressed in foppish suits, vests tight around their midsection, wives wearing resplendent gowns with parasols twirling to ward against the sun that was barely there. There were some fortune tellers who had stopped Ashelia on the way, asking if she wanted to have her fortune told.

A male hume came running up to them, with offers of free beverage to quench any weary traveler in the city, in exchange for a generous sandalwood chop; and while Gabranth did not don his armour in the city, his clean-cut appearance, blond short-cropped hair held much attention. Perhaps, they presumed him to own many chops, giving it away as freely as breathing. He refused, sending the hume male an unfriendly glare, but was intercepted by Ashelia who said she was thirsty, taking the two offered covered cups and offering the second for her companion to drink.

"I do not have a sandalwood chop to just give to this stranger, Amalia."

"Oh that's right, Gabby," it pleased her to call him that in public, "I apologize, but would some coins do?"

The street-ear grinned widely, taking whatever what was offered and merrily walked away, in search of another victim. He disappeared through the throng of citizens. As soon as he was gone, Ashelia went back to the patient waiting Gypsy, and said she would like her fortune told.

Ashelia was curious, Gabranth could see; saw how the princess bowed with a quick gesture of pleasure, offering her palm. He did not see the purpose of this, but it seemed to suit the Princess's interest, and while he listened to the gasp and wide eyed fortune-teller, he nearly wanted to roll his eyes to the gods, if ever there existed any. He drew in a breath, stared down at the cup, peered inside to see it was only water. If he ever saw that street-ear again....he clenched his teeth. Sandalwood chop for a cup of water? Swindling around the Imperial City was against the law.

"My dear, you are about to accompany little ones in your future, an entire empire waits for you," The gypsy exclaimed, her earrings moved and glinted, a purple scarf adorned her head, covering the colour of her hair.

Ashelia smiled, "That sounds about right." She gently closed her eyes, "but what do you mean about little ones?"

"Children!"

Gabranth choked on his drink, coughed, almost through his nose, brought his hand over his mouth and felt Ashelia's firm hand pat his back, "There there, the gods have willed it; these consequences must derive from a union that was not meant to be."

It was uncanny the way she distantly spoke, as if the future condition of what-may-be, had been in her thoughts. What was worse, was that she did not seem to mind. What was her game?

"Shit." He cursed beneath his breath. How incredibly foolish was he? Soon, Vayne would get his wish and he had not taken the preventative measure as he normally did with his previous lovers. Then, again, he had always had responsible lovers; Ashelia B'Nargin was another matter altogether. There was, he believed the doctors that could secure this problem; he was sure that the princess would agree--despite her strange behaviour-- if something unexpected happened.

"Amalia, we have matters to discuss." It was blunt; his hand gripped her elbow, "at present."

"Thank you," she waved to the departing gypsy, and gritted her teeth at the gentle manhandling, pulling her arm away, "I will not discuss this matter until we are alone." She lowered her tone, "in the ship or at your residence."

"Gods! It is my burden; I should have taken the precaution. I knew—but, gods, this is madness." He breathed, "I do not wish to have children with you."

It sounded like a slap in her face, and she winched visibly, anger flashed through her eyes, "And you believe I do with you? How far do you think I have succumbed? I am shamed forever, that I do not wish to see my husband's grave, because I might get lightning struck down for cuckolding with my father's assassin." Her eyes appeared wet; she fought against the tears that threatened.

"Cuckolding?" He nearly sputtered, and stared at her, "Your husband is long dead, two years since. I believe it is customary to take another lover after one year's grievance is over."

"You don't understand! You've probably never loved anyone in your life before. And I do not wish to discuss this matter with you; you do not deserve his memory." She hissed, and they stood there glaring at each other like two bickering lovers in the middle of the city's bustling crowd.

"Then you do not wish to see his tomb?" he stood straight, narrowed his eyes, because he really wished this; he was not about to take Ashelia to visit the palace where the late prince was buried.

She shook her head, "Nay," her eyes stung, he could see as she was barely swimming in her tears, "my life has been naught but regret since you—you & the empire, took it away."

He looked around him, and drew her close, "We should go into the store, and you must hurry to get what you need," he sighed, "There is much I must do today."

"After your duties are clear, we may go to back to the Gran Kiltias?" She looked hopeful, but he presumed that if she did not get her way, she would probably steal his ship and fly it there if she could. He no doubt believed that.

Gabranth nodded, "there is still the matter of what may happen to you."

She shook her head, sending him a stone-cold gaze, "It has not happened, fear not, I sense no change in my body. It is too early for that. The thought of having your child gives me much to think; of taking full retribution on the Empire with all haste."

He almost wanted her to actually have a child, then. Because it would serve his purpose. Ashelia's revenge would give full justice to an Empire that has started to change his view of the judicial system within the Solidor's; the only thing that kept him in check was Larsa, and his promise to Drace. There were plenty of important factors that weighed into this, how to protect Larsa, and aid Lady Ashe to overthrow the Empire's new leader. If she took the route that Vayne did years before, there would be nothing left of Archades but a crumbling city with only the heavy-nethicite images of rising, more powerful beasts and long-dead unburied ghosts.

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	20. Chapter 20 : Freedom in trade

_The public is a ferocious beast; one must either chain it or flee from it.  
--Voltaire_

**Vayne's Night Off.**

A low needy high-pitched sigh sounded in the darkened Solidor chamber, with gilded mirrors above and aside, a diaphanous long curtain obscured the partly naked members upon that linen and modest large bed, without the fluff and without the curls, there were leftover bowls of fruits not eaten, two goblets of wine untouched; on the floor were garments discarded in proper order. Not even Vayne could stand the improper mess that derived from removing one's clothing despite the most intimate circumstances. He did not prefer such garishly pompously displayed decorations, favoring the bolder but simpler flavour of reserved gold and black upon the sheets without so much as shine on its pattern.

For at the moment, Vayne was in the middle of taking a dancer into his bed, frustration and stress he believed was to be relieved between a hume's tender thighs; he was sliding his pale-elegant hand over the tanned supple skin, free of scar and blemish, kissed softly, almost agonizing slow over the hume's inner leg. Slipped a tongue between the crevices so that he heard the pleasurable moan from his companion; and only paused long enough to gaze lazily through his half parted lids at the trimmed curls, the taut smooth brown flesh, heard the insistent foreign noise that was not coming from his companion. He shifted, reluctant to look up, but the distressing noise—which was, he thought irritably—as bad as a leaking faucet pump, wrung his concentration from such a deliberate, and almost tender lovemaking.

He enjoyed all the pleasures of life, and he had been much too long amongst the snare of the Senate's suspicion, under the weakened disapproval of his late father's stare; always, and always keeping the blindness in young Larsa's untainted eyes—so the boy may never see what truly went on._ Larsa is as he should be. _While he would have continued in this vein, taking slow torturous pleasure from his lover's anticipated pain; yet, that little tinkering noise seemed to penetrate the room's atmosphere; the annoying sound came from above where an expansive mirror was situated above the garish bed. He finally shifted his head to the side, looking up, from above his dancer's trembling thighs, his shoulders tensed, then saw that there was a poster flickering: it was the draklor laboratory's image, with new designs and a note in blindingly yellow which said, 'never mind the swimming pool, that's much too boring; how about a Venat of your own? You can't beat that! Always willing to lend a helping aid…." And the words had gotten smaller that he had to squint. Vayne twitched his lips, the long black wavy end hairs tickled the flushed skin of the hume beneath him.

He rolled over on his back, his, releasing his dancing-bed partner, black hair fanning out amongst the downy-soft pillows, and fisted his eyes, "ARGGH! CIDOLPHUS!"

A holler of alarm from his lover stirred him to pull the fists from his eyes, saw in a flash—the naked flesh quickly scampering out of the bed, scarlet garments covering private parts, running out of the door. Vayne sat up, saw Cid standing by the entrance, then strolling in, whispering to the invisible Venat, about how _this was most improper but aye, yes, yes,--this was the best route, you say? Oh yes, indeed._

Vayne grabbed the smashed pillow beside him and threw it over at Cid (wishing it were a more solid object); it flew over the doctor's and would have landed on Venat but the misty Occuria-regenerator vanished completely, taking with it the rest of the sparkling mist in its wake.

"You'll never get the extension to your laboratory this way, Cidolphus! We have stormed all over the east end of Ivalice to further help you with your experiments, surely you go too far. If you were not such a favoured & valuable ally to me..."

"Now now, calm yourself, your most high excellent Vayne, let us not be hasty, for Gabranth has certainly planted the seed most deep." Cidolphus paused at that, and hummed disapprovingly, "That was an incredibly bad way to phrase it."

"There is nothing to discuss, until there is evidence of Ashelia's condition. Has Venat been busy finding out what has happened?"

"To be sure, Lord Vayne, Venat refuses to be privy to such private affairs, finding that part of the deal too demeaning."

"Nonsense." Vayne grumbled, his hair was messed up, and he reached up to whip back the strands with one flick of his wrist.

"I wholeheartedly agree, but Venat will be following the Princess's condition in due time."

Vayne pushed up from the bed, glad to be wearing his robe and pulled the curtain aside, "We'll resume this discussion when I'm properly clothed."

**Market-place; Ashelia.**

"That is a mighty fine sword there, miss." The merchant exclaimed happily behind the smooth-lacquered counter, handling the heavy blade across his hands, "there is a hefty price for it, though, and I'm afraid your purse strings are not enough to cover it."

Ashelia bit her lip, drew her brows together, counting the last remaining coins within her meager pouch. She was indeed too poor for such a valuable weapon and she took a quick glance behind her, where Gabranth was mulling over the books on the shelves upstairs. She hated to ask him, too proud; and turning to the merchant, she declined gently, averting her disappointed eyes away.

"It's fine. I shall come back for it when I have enough."

The owner seemed to have taken pity on her, for his voice took on a gentler tone, "I'm afraid that this might not be here when you return, but I can always trade you for that—ring there."

She gasped at the ring he pointed; the one on her finger._ Nay. Never_. But there were two rings on her finger, one from her departed husband, and the other—a friendship ring. Both were important jewels on her person, and she could not bear to part with either one. For such a weapon, it was not worth the exchange. She shook her head, "I can't. It's not for sale or for exchange." She fingered the ring with a tender caress.

He could see that she thought too much of it, and he smiled, "You can offer me either one. I can see both are rare and possess a certain quality I'm interested in; think of it as a wager, where you take the weapon and I hold on to your ring and when you return to exchange the weapon again, I shall have this ring returned to you, intact."

She was confused, "But what profit would that bring you?"

"No profit at all if you return too soon. I shall have to give you an expiration date to return the sword, and I must offer a price above it as well."

"And that is?"

"You must bring me not only the sword back, no matter if it has been damaged, I run a smithy in the back to take care of such things. You must also bring back a special and rare hunt for me."

"Pardon?"

He procured a poster from out under the shelves beneath his counter, laying on the smooth surface, and ironing it out with his hand. The beast in the photo was one that was in the Barheim Passage. She looked closely, "what manner of creature is that?"

"Supposedly a vampyr bat, for there is the passage and you must go deep within the surface." Then he looked at her perplexed expression, and continued, "Worry not, once you complete the hunt, you may keep whatever the creature possesses. I only ask that you bring me proof of its defeat. I shall also reward you back your ring, and then you may also be richer for it."

"How much will I profit?" She was interested, and if she had enough funds she could do without Gabranth and find her way back to Rabanastre, find the rest of the insurgences and deal with the Empire later. She must think of a way to require her independence back; however in order to do that—like all cultures and civilizations—they must work hard to earn it. How far she had fallen from a privileged princess to one who must skulk beneath Rabanastre; she had lived for the past two years, in the modest hidden shelters of Lowtown and, running through the Waterways, making grand plans. All the while, thinking of the most desirable thing: to get retribution.

But her chest pained when she took one of the rings off her finger, and settled it with some reluctance upon the smooth, shiny counter. She saw the merchant take it eagerly, staring into it with interest, "You shall profit well, with two thousand gil and a transporter stone. I'm a generous merchant, and you'll find me more than fair." he continued to peer closely at her ring, noticing the gems around the rare silver-hued band, "Ah, not one of its kind that I've ever seen. It is a rather rare piece, and the metals, they are not common here in Archades," He looked to her, "Rozarria?" Then saw her shake her head, and continued, "You look not of Rozarrian blood, but—you are not from here. I wager, somewhere far and distant, or from a land that has been destroyed by the war."

She said nothing. She did not want to give anything away, but slid the blade into the scabbard it came with. The heaviness would take something to get used to, but she would exercise it like all the other blades she has been able to wield.

Once she spoke to the Gran Kiltias, and find what she has to do, then all will come together. The owner signed something in the hunt's announcement, folding it neatly and handed it to her, "Here, this is an unofficial board hunt, but I shall know you instantly when you return with your success."

"Why have you not posted it before hand?" She had to ask.

He leaned in, whispering low as if to offer a very secretive morsel, "I was due to go this eve after I close up and post it, but you came along, and let's just say---the less who hunt this, the more likely you'll get your prize and benefit from it. There are far too many hunters in Archades searching for the best hunts and profit well. You—on the other hand." He sent her a pitying look, "now I don't know what your relationship with the gentleman there, though he is well dressed in simple yet fine clothes, I get the feeling that you are not very close."

"He is, but a companion for the present, nothing more."

"Ah." He nodded, but there was something in his rheumy eyes that told her he did not believe her, "let me know then if you need anything else."

"Thank you," she said with kindness, and walked over to Gabranth who was leaning his shoulder casually against the bookshelf---sifting through the large volumes-- sturdy wood-lacquered bookshelves that contained not only large gold bound books, but various paraphernalia, which looked quite overpriced. His hand held the open book steady, while his finger turned the pages slowly.

"I'm ready, Gabranth." She told him breathlessly.

He looked up from his perusal, "You have bought what you needed? Do you need any extra gil?"

"Aye, I have what I want for now, and nay, I am fine."

He gazed at the new weapon at her side, raising his blond brow with interest, "a bastard sword?" She heard him scoff and watched as he folded the book with one snap, sliding it neatly back unto the shelves next to him.

"What of it? I could afford no other sword, and the one I had was too weak. Surely you know that my ancient sword would not do."

"It may not have much damage, though be it sharp, it possesses a potent curse."

She lifted her chin, "True, it does, but I need to vanquish my enemies quick, not wait until they render me helpless."

He pushed away from the bookshelf, "all right, Princess, I am more than happy if you're happy." And he turned away, sauntering past her.

She seethed silently, "Your genuineness does my heart good, Gabranth. A girl could ask no more." He ignored the biting remark, and she followed him a little ways, down the steps towards the exit.

They walked through the throng of humes, passed the cheers of spectators who were ogling at a pair of mimes with overlarge shirts and powdered faces. She looked above at the sky, where the traffic was sparsely filled with the glorious concoctions of the Empire, of the modern ships that zipped by and the train compartment in the sky that held a handful of people—traveling to and fro—to the other side of the city.

She was so caught up with the noise and unusual beauty of the city that she had lost sight of Gabranth; the heads of humes bopping in and out of the crowd. She sucked in her breath, and looked towards the north and west, where she had glimpsed earlier the cab stop. Her fingers on her pouch, recalling in her head of how much; and may have enough gil to get her out of the city and perhaps, she would ask among the throng of citizens where she may get to the Passage safely. Ashelia had not asked the merchant earlier, and would have—but her thought at that moment was that she would ask Gabranth. That he would willingly take her would be nothing short of seducing him to get what she wanted. It made her disgusted of what she must do, and though other hume females have done worse—much worse in a time of war torn Ivalice, to survive; hers was, she truly believed so much more an affront. Her feet took her swiftly meandering across the steady parade of humes. And she often glanced behind her to see if he had noticed that she was gone, or that she was on her way to the opposite direction.

Ashelia spotted the cab and the driver was already taking the last passenger inside; and she ran, gently pushing people aside, "Pardon, please, I must, I have to get through." She whispered apologetically.

_Gods! Don't leave!_ Her heart raced.

_

* * *

_

_-continued-_


	21. Chapter 21: Ah to be Liberated

_"I am simply myself. No more and no less. And I want only to be free." _

_-_

-8-

* * *

She did not believe she would be able to make it in time. When Ashelia managed to step in front of the cab driver's path, she was a little breathless, "Please, is it too late for me to step in? I have some gil," with fumbling actions, her fingers pried the small pouch ties loose, reaching for what little she had left within.

The driver eyed her curiously, shaking his head, "I'm sorry miss, but you need a sandalwood chop to get in." He looked at her fraught expression, and like the merchant in the store, became a little soft, "really, I'm sorry, I would take you; however, it's against regulations that I bring anyone in the cab without the proper entrance fee. They're extremely severe about that here."

"Damn," she cursed beneath her breath, looking around, her eyes scanned the crowd and saw not a hair or sight of Gabranth; turning back to the driver, she paused his way into the seat, "wait! Is there any other way?"

He sighed, "There's another cab coming up soon, and there is, but it's through Old Archades," the driver looked at her clothing, "I'm afraid, that area is a bit too rough though; but it's nary impossible. You can ask one of the Imperial soldiers to accompany you through the area—from there, you can go through Sochen Cave Palace."

"Sochen Cave Palace!" She repeated dumbly, this is not to be; was she not there not long ago, vanquishing the mandragoras with Gabranth?

"Yes, miss, I regretfully inform you, but I need to get going; the passengers are waiting," he told her in kind, tapping his hat to her before climbing into the driver's seat. She stepped back, and was about to leave, but the cab driver called out, "Imperial soldiers should be stationed around, you'll find them by the Old Archade's entrance; those are the ones you need to ask to accompany you."

"Thank you." She called out, then ran towards the direction to where Old Archades would be. It was a long walk down past the stairs, past the long narrow walk, passing humes dressed for theatre or an afternoon stroll; their coiffed hair, the stylishly cut material draped over their bodies told her that this was a far different appeal than the common, yet modest streets of Dalmasca. She had taken some time earlier before leaving Gabranth's home with one of his mother's long coats, draping over her shoulders, and covered her usual armour. She could not-for some odd reason part with her pink skirt; the gold and thick buckle, and the chain linked mail plating which hugged her thighs. How she longed to walk generously across the simple streets of Rabanastre again; but she has never been able to do so, at least—_not without company or guard_. For the first time, in her life, she was truly alone.

------

It wasn't too long before Gabranth realized that the Princess had, perhaps lost her way within the bustling Imperial City. When he turned to search for her, he sighed openly, wishing he had not saddled himself with such a quandary. He could only guess that she had tried to procure a cab first; he strolled towards the passenger loading location, finding the public transport gone. There were a few passengers waiting for the next one, and he asked them if they had seen a hume female with her description. None of them had. She did not possess the necessary traveling prerequisite required to ride. But something in him itched in memory at the merchant at the weapons store; he had listened, without trying, heard a little to what their exchange was about—something about a hunt and a ring; and though, he tried not to intrude too much into her affairs, he had hoped that she would swallow that damnable haughty-princess pride of hers and ask him for the extra gil. He should have known, that was not something Princess Ashelia would do so easily---not when, a certain merchant, perhaps had offered a little more.

At once, he returned to the shop and found the shop-keeper humming to himself, looking at the ring Ashelia had apparently traded with him. For the years Gabranth has spent time being a Judge, one of his specialties was to listen; to spy without being noticed; to see without eyes; and to hear without ears; an artifice without being seen.

He sauntered before the counter and placed his palms with deadly calm face down on the smooth lacquered surface, his voice low, and it took him some effort not to pull the man over the counter and land a blow to his head; but, he was not overtly emotional—not often; however, a silent rage seemed to course through his veins at the princess's little dramatic escapades, "the woman, the one I was with, what hunt did you give her?"

The man was startled out of his reverie, and nearly jumped back, "Oh my! You nearly rattled me out of my concentration and had me almost dropping this rare gem!" his finger was still holding Ashelia's ring, and he sputtered, "did she not tell you?"

"Do not play games with me, what hunt did you offer her? I won't ask again."

"You mean your little lady?" The hume grinned sheepishly, but thought better of it—his facial expression changed hastily, as Gabranth waited, not wishing to mince words; the store owner cleared his throat with a kind of nervous inflection, "Barnheim passage. The hunt's in the passage, right beneath Nalbina!"

Then the shop-owner leaned in, almost whispering in awe, "Is she going off on her own?" the marvel in his voice indicated that he had not expected Ashelia to actually pursue a dangerous hunt on her own, "I thought—perhaps that she would have companions, such as yourself." He reached up to scratch his head, looked very anxious.

"I have no time for this; inform to me what manner of hunt, and where I may find the creature."

"A vampyr bat, which resides deep within the Barnheim passage. I told her I'd give her two thousand gil if she is successful; plus, her ring back, if the sword returned it to me."

Gabranth took a deep breath, mentally shaking his head; he procured the bag of gil that was stashed, hidden securely in his pocket; he dumped the contents on the counter, "Provide me her ring, in exchange for everything I have here; surely I have enough?"

From the amount of coins, it would appear to have been more than enough; and the merchant's eyes nearly bulged out from such generosity; conversely, the hume pursed his lips—took his black rimmed eye-piece from within his pockets, securing it over one eye; his dark bushy brow fanning over his lid, "Twenty-four thousand gil? That is a lot for a ring, but the ring is perhaps worth more." There was an unmistakable glint of greed in the merchant's eye, because his customer was indeed full in his pockets.

The Judge's patience was wearing incredibly thin, grabbing the merchant's lapels with a curl of his fist, "Again, the ring. Bestow it to my possession; and I shall furnish you with more when I return."

The shop-keeper sputtered helplessly, "I'll alert the Imperial soldiers in here! You can't frighten me in my own store, this is uncalled for!"

Gabranth released him, angry at himself for losing patience, "No need. I'm not in uniform, and am part of the Imperial army; he sighed, raking his hand through his short hair in frustration, "but this is important; you need not worry that I would malign your business by cheating you; you will certainly make more out of this than I."

_For all the false gods of Ivalice, he was a man of the law._ Acting in this insensible manner could only be brought upon the dire, yet ridiculous situation at best.

The owner visibly relaxed, straightened his lapels, "Fine. How do I know you're not lying. That you're with the Imperial guards?"

"Do you doubt me?" he asked in a smooth, chilled tone.

The response Gabranth received was a stutter, "Nay! Nay, I – I do not. But you must hurry, I fear the young lady would not be able to live if she is to trek to the passage alone. I had assumed-surely that you would be with her. You seemed like a couple." He was curiously peering into his eyes; his profile, as if trying to decipher his emotion and intention.

Gabranth procured the ring, pocketing it within his person, eyeing the merchant coolly; he replied with derision, "we're not." Then left the store in a matter of seconds.

----

Ashelia stood in front of the entrance of Old Archades; it had been a long trek, but gratefully, was too caught up with the sights—gazing at the steadily meandering traffic above, the sky streaked pink and purple, the dark colours indicating the hour of sunset soon; among the platform were patterns, directing her way to the edge of the end of the beginning. That was what she heard while stepping near the stairway leading to the slums. And indeed, she would have found her way to the decrepit neighbourhood by the smells alone. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, and set about to search for an Imperial soldier. It wasn't too long before she was bumped by a poor, wretched looking hume whose hair was matted, tangled in some kind of permanent manner of never seeing a brush in its entire life; the hume grinned widely, gazing at her with a kind of desperation.

"Would you be happening to want some company?" he showed her his lack of teeth, and she resolutely stood firm, gazed back with an austerity that set him back.

"Nay, t'would behoove you to find me an Imperial guard, so I may find the entrance to the Cave."

"The fine lass wants guards at her beck and call? No worries. For a couple gil I can get you two fine soldiers to take you."

She nearly contemplated the idea then shook her head, "I can manage thank you." And walked determinedly past, her eyes scanning through the despairing state of condition. As she turned away, she heard him mumble something about uppity Archades women. Ashelia was mildly surprised that she was even mistaken for that—perhaps it was the clothing, or the cloak around her shoulders—the fine material that set her apart from the poor that sat hopelessly around the barren grey walls, by the smell that seemed to reek from their clothes, the sewers that were never cleaned. She managed to spot two uniformed soldiers a ways off and set about on her task. Freedom seemed to be within her grasp.

Ashelia glanced hesitantly back--at least--she told herself--just once; to glimpse at the streak of faint purple splashes in the blue-white sky, searching for a sign, before resuming her direction.

-----

Gabranth had been too late. When he finally reached Old Archades, he saw two Imperial guards and walked up to them. They had not recognized him without his armour at first; but recognition settled in; they both stuttered, "Your honor, the citizens have not been rioting, so the situation here have been well and good," their uniformed clanked with attention, standing straight. Many would not have recognized Gabranth, but few soldiers knew his face in Archades; he was fortunate that these two had seen him and the other Judges without their full garb during one of the speeches at an earlier extravagant fete that was given by Vayne.

"I'm searching for a young woman, in fine clothes, pink skirt, wearing a thin, almost grey wool-trimmed cloak?"

The soldiers gave each other looks, then turned to him, "Aye, sir, she went into the cave."

He closed his eyes, he really did not have time for this. There were things he had to do; duties he had to attend to before chasing her down all over hidden places in Archades and back, "then I hold you two responsible. Retrieve her immediately, return her here, lock her up in chains if you must to hold her down. I'll send more men down here to take your stations."

"You- you want us to go search for her." They stammered nervously, "But sir, we don't know how far she's gone."

"I'll return here within two hours." He said this without argument; and with that, he strode back to the Imperial City, wishing he had the time—wishing that he could have paid more attention, but she wanted sovereignty, did she? She'll get her liberty and know that she could not do this without protection._ Gods! He had not cared for anyone in so long, why would he care so much about her condition? Shit. _There was his task in Nalbina Dugeons first. He hoped those insipid fools find her before she wound up in some troubled snag. But he wagered, with some kind of justification that she knew how to protect herself—perhaps more so than most would trust of her.

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	22. Chapter 22: Madness & Desire

But you see, it's not me, it's not my family.

_-00-_

* * *

_-ii-_

_He felt a distinguishable, very real forceful weight, landing hard on his chest, nearly knocking his breath out; a painful, disgruntled groan was heard and through the slight pain, knew it was his own. Gabranth opened his eyes to see a healthy, tousled dark blond haired boy about two years old thump noisily on his torso. "POPPA!"_

_Gabranth choked back a cry of surprise, stared into the eyes of landisian blue, like that of the water and the sky, the wheat-coloured hair, soft in texture, round arms and round legs. The child excitably bopped up again, landing firm upon his chest again, squealing happily, calling out papa._

_"Child, I do not think I am your papa." He breathed, wondering where he was, why he was here, and thought—this was not some kind of nightmare, was he? Apparently, waking up from some kind of delirium into another kind of madness—and the child giggled, ready to pull at his nose._

_Gabranth gently picked up the child and settled him down next to him on the bed, got up and searched the room: there seemed to be no one around and for a moment he felt as if he were being placed in some kind of implausible experiment. Soon, thereafter Ashelia strolled in, firmly securing another child on her hip, her silver-brown hair pulled up in a clip, almost severely. She was wearing a linen dress which clung to her body--surprising him further with rounder, fuller breasts, hips curvier than he remembered. He was taking everything in: from the child on her hip who looked surprisingly like the giggling boy next to him._

_"What in Ivalice has happened here, Lady Ashe?"_

_She sent him a disdainful glare, "Ah, so now it's My lady," and huffed inelegantly, pulling the baby forward on her hip, "You burden me with three children and a fourth one coming along the way and you're addressing me with a title."_

_"Four!?" He gasped in horror, "Is this your idea of humouring me?" Gabranth stared back at the child next to him, who was now inching up to his side, climbing and grabbing with little chubby hands._

_"Not at all, Noah." She said, quite gravely, "At present, you have acquired twins—for it must run in my family as well as yours---think of the chances of that happening! The gods must have been smiling upon us! And then here, is your third child, a boy, and the fourth one is on its way." She paused, as if to weigh in his shocked and horrified expression, "not to worry—it'll be months before the fourth one will be here." Her eyes gazed at her flat stomach._

_"NAY!" he uttered in a low, deep, gravelly pained voice, "this cannot be happening!"_

_"It won't! Unless you do something, Gabranth. You must stop this from happening."_

_"How?" he cried helplessly, and the child next to him started crying, for want of attention. Gabranth turned to stare at the child's angelic features, wide blue eyes and the open pink mouth, spittle running down, past the bottom of his lip. He cried happily for Gabranth, calling him that title. _

_"Do be a good father and try and be more attentive to your children, Noah." Ashelia scolded, "that's your boy twin, the other—a girl, is fast asleep in the other room. The one I have on my hip is your third child."_

_"Ashelia, this is madness!"_

_"You need not remind me, Noah. You could not keep your pants hitched closed," she gazed at him as if she were settling on a verdict, "I could not either, keep you from your lusts. I too, despite my evident dislike of you—could not help myself. We're both, in the end to blame for such an unwanted turn of events."_

_"What has happened?" And he was already pulling the child next to him into his arms, the baby bowed against his chest, curling little fingers into the blond-close cropped hair, "I do not think, I can not recall---if we ever acquired children! How is this possible?"_

_"As I said," Ashelia approached, settling the other child between them; the bed wiggled as the babies bopped their small bodies, reaching for their parents, "you have the power to undo this."_

_"Gods! Anything!" He cried, and his so-called baby settled chubby fingers around his neck, a peel of happy laughter and wet lips caught round Gabranth's ears. He brought the child on his lap, cradling him until, surprisingly the security within his so-called father's arms managed to gentle his agitated movements. The toddler released a giggle, his chubby fist against the wet gurgling mouth._

_"T'would appear that you make a rather fine father, Noah. Who would have known? Indeed not I."_

_Gabranth could only gape openly at Ashelia._

_--_

She had woken up half-screaming, heard her desperate voice in the cool, remote chamber; the echo bouncing off the walls . Her hands shook, bringing them up to push away her hair away from her face. _A dream! _A dream that she saw—which placed her in Gabranth's horrified reaction, _his viewpoint_. Suddenly, her mouth felt dry, like the kiss of dalmasca's desert sand, open-mouthed with the air coming into her lungs, out of them--in gasps; to see—to feel, to understand his place, his revulsion to have given her children. But, despite it, he was startlingly tender with the babe in his arms. And she—she seemed so nonchalant about the entire affair. With shaking fingers she placed them over her abdomen hoping that she was not what she—oh gods! Perhaps the delirium of what would happen haunted her, to the point that she dreamt the most appalling future. Better if she had taken a knife to her throat than to suffer and bear such a consequence. Gods! How dramatic she must sound. She covered her face with her hands, searched for her weapon which was laid out beside her neatly.

Ashelia gazed her surroundings, found herself sweating in the corner of Sochen Cave Palace, and the nightmare was so intensely real that she had to pinch her skin hard. She gritted her teeth, and steadily brought her form up against the serrated wall, where she was hidden neatly away from any would be disturbances. She had managed to use her bastard sword with ease, bringing down her enemies quick and with the potions she had taken from Gabranth, smoothed them over the cuts and bruises she received in return.

There were enemies on this side of the Cave that were, much much stronger than she had ever faced. From the jeering faces of zombie knights, sluggishly carrying their death-swords dragging the tips along the cemented surface, on the uphill towards her—she used the initiative, always taking damage later, eliminating the foes, leaving magicites and extra potions she may use later.

She had found a secluded area where the waterfall ran noiselessly down a wall, from the above ceiling—into the lilac floras and pool of jutting brilliant near-glowing white spikes. These spikes appeared to be built into the walls; or were naturally grown from out of the moss-covered rock. The water provided some solace, as her fingers lapped around the cool fluid, placed her palm to cup its ambrosia, settling it beneath her nose. It was with some consolation that it was safe to drink; or wash her face, splashing her awake; and to rejuvenate her senses.

When all the enemies had been disposed of, she decided to take a well needed rest, finding this a sanctuary that would not spawn more monsters. What monsters indeed were all residing in her dreams. Yet, as she climbed back to the shadowed interior of the Cave, her mind faintly recalled the sweet beauty of motherhood. And her heart ached. How her own mother and father must have felt—how she must have seen through their eyes how raising, having one's own children could bring, such an achingly beautiful feeling—unwanted, yet, longing for—she stiffened. This was never meant to be, and if she decided in the future, of a child of her own, it would not be with Gabranth; or whoever he claimed to be: Noah Fon Ronsenberg, of Landis, of Archades. She hoped to never marry again; and if she were to have children out of wedlock, then it would be without his aid.

The sound of a cry, unmistakably hume was howling in pain from the direction she was facing, and Ashelia rushed headlong into the opening, to find two Imperial soldiers in combat, brandishing their pointed swords against three magical Imps. One of the soldiers swapped the air aggressively, stabbing the agile winged creature, feebly missing its mark. The other soldier was being cornered by two, and from the looks of his status, was nearing death's throes. Without hesitation, Ashe rushed into the firefight, and with a lassitude like a long sweeping arc, descended markedly into the first imp's pulsing heart, bore him the needed amount of damage, so that when it collapsed into the ground—it left in its wake, a magicite that sparkled in gold. The soldier was lying low, crouched against the wall with his arms up over his head, crying pathetically; and, whilst the other—too preoccupied and making the most out of the fight—did not notice what was happening. Ashelia held the sword with two hands, gripping tight so that when she swung, over her head and into the creature, it combusted and left dust, another golden prize behind.

She bent down on one knee, felt the pulse of the sobbing soldier and pulled her precious potion out of her pouch; within seconds the spell worked and the hume gratefully smiled, "ah thank ye so much, I thought I was a goner there for a moment!"

"You should take care within these walls," and saw from the corner of her eyes that the other, more hostile Imperial combatant had eliminated the last Imp.

He was breathing heavily, his hand gripped his simple blade, the armour clanked and was too hot, sweat lined his dark brow, "miss, you need to come with us."

"Pardon?" She eyed him with suspicion, "were you two not the soldiers who accompanied me to this cave's entrance?"

"Aye, we are, but we'll be in big trouble if you don't come with us."

The other rescued soldier still sat with his back against the wall, looking right sheepish and regretful, "if you don't, we would answer to a Judge, and that would not sit well with us."

She stood up quickly, grumbled beneath her breath, "that is not my concern." It sounded cold even to her ears, but what would she care about Imperial soldiers? They were stationed all over her homeland, guarding her palace like a tyrannical sentinel, where even she—could not even attend her own rooms, or pace safely up the stairs no longer, "and if you dare force me against my will, I shall have to do to you what I did to those last two Imps."

The soldier on the ground muttered with fear implied in the tone, "We're screwed, rightly screwed."  
--

**Dungeons**

Basch was still held in chains; and though the previous chains he held were rusted, scraping his skin with the two years spent, the newer ones faded and caked with his blood. Gabranth strolled up to the cage, took his helm off, for he had donned the Magister's armour not long before—it was best to keep his face hidden from the soldier's here, hidden from the Nalbina citizens, or those who would mistake his features for the King Slayer. Even if, indeed he was the one who had taken the blade those two years since.

"I would have brought Amalia to you, Basch." He whispered, wanting to see his brother's reaction. It satisfied him for the moment—the quick intake of breath, the sudden flash of fire in his sibling's eyes, as if for a moment Basch had forgotten he was held in chains.

"Noah, then the rumours are not false, you have her." Basch croaked unevenly, his eyes reddened and wet, the blood across his head had dried, "I bear you no ill-will, brother, but you must acknowledge—though she be not your princess, think of her—_please,_ as someone who you must protect; she needs your aid. If I could, I would lend mine, but hear me out, if you would listen."

Gabranth could not the even conjure the forced laughter to accompany his voice, swallowed and tasted bitterly the rough thickened bile, inching its way up his throat, "Even after all this time, you beg me for this woman's life. Is she more to you than your failure, for you had not been able to keep her safe yourself?"

"Then—then, why have you come? Have you not filled your eyes with your brother's pain, have you not dragged our mother's memory through by your acts alone?"

"Ah, so you believe that you were always right, always just. You, who have failed Landis; it was I, brother, who had stood by our mother, through her pains, through the suffering whilst you had left, gone. And she bore that suffering, knowing that her eldest son could not continue the fight; to keep Landis on its feet."

"I had a duty to hold, Noah."

"As I have." The judge hoarsely whispered.

There was a quiet deadly calm; a stillness, hung loose in the air—the sound of a pitiable moan, behind the sanctuary hold, from a dying prisoner. The wail echoed throughout the chamber. It was a chilling sound; the silent painful ray of tiny light coming into the cracks, like a forced entry trickling with an unhurried state, suspending time.

"Have you not had enough, Noah? If you could unbind yourself from your master's chains, then you could free what your heart was not able to do—you could safe-guard the princess; it is, the only thing I ask, if I should die in this hole."

"You won't die, Basch. Because, Vayne keeps you to dangle before Ondore."

"Will that even be enough, Noah?" Basch lifted his tired eyes to gaze steadily into his brother's, "_Is it_? I shall bear the pain, willingly."

The Judge turned away, the sting of tears prickled behind his eyes; his voice was low and tight, "you should eat what they're providing you. I've upped your rations, and told them to withdraw any unneeded physical pains upon your person. They would answer to me if they abused this."

"I would thank you, but I withhold any until you do this for me, Noah."

But Gabranth was too annoyed, his back faced his twin; he could bear no more.

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	23. Chapter 23: Bringing the Bat Down

He did not know how long he sat in his air ship, the sound of the steady hum managed to calm him a little; but it was not enough to still the cold sweat. His eyes burned, hands trembling as he placed them over his face, sat against the wall of the ship's interior, legs apart, elbows pressed on his lap. He could not still the shaking within his body, the way his twin begged him to do; the request that he should protect Ashelia B'Nargin in his place.

Gabranth's every intention was to cruelly tell Basch that he had lain with Ashelia, took her over and over again. Instead, he had turned his thoughts back on the pitiable condition his twin suffered. _Ah—but he was responsible was he not? _Guilt had never been a companion to him and he never suffered the consequences of his actions. But the events of the war had changed, dawdled—like a poisonous blade; first his emperor, Lord Gramis, then Drace. He could not sleep proper after that, not until he had met the Princess. But, he decided that it was because she was infuriating with her haughty-airs and virtuous indignation. She was no more virtuous than any other woman who found him attractive. And denied it to even to herself. What twisted turn of events had plagued him was that he never meant to take her in this manner; the resulting aspect of their relationship had not been as gratifying as he'd like it to be. He had one more crime to blacken his soul, stacking high upon the other.

When Gabranth returned to Old Archades, he was disappointed. The two soldiers were not there. There, in their place were the replacements he had stationed earlier, before setting off to Nalbina. The night was shimmering in a brilliant cover of light, radiant from the traffic heralding the skies, so that the stars closer to the city would be blocked off; and only the pollution of Archades displayed.

He did not even wish to speak to them, deciding to take matters into his own hands. Returning to his ship, he took the route towards Dalmasca. The mapped dot on his monitor blinked, indicating the direction of the passage entry. There, he would try his luck, trek his way through Barnheim, hoping she had at the very least kept herself alive before he found her.

When he landed his ship, it was still dark, perhaps almost midnight, and here the stars could be seen. Without the heavy traffic that plagued most of the Imperial city. He could stare at the sky forever, and his heart stretched, opening up all the wounds, recalling his evening with Ashelia under a mandocello song.

He still wore his Magister armour, anticipating the fiends inside; his weapon secured within his cape, and the long double doors seem to beckon him. There was the distant sound of cockatrice rolling along the sands, and the cry of a howling alpha wolf, prancing in the sand to protect its family of lesser wolves.

But he was not alone. Not when there were two giant-sized seeqs blocking his way, and the smell of barbequed cockatrice wafted beneath his nose. They were chortling and slaved their wide hungry tongues over the smoking fire, the smell & sight of the cooked meat turned with the stick.

They had stopped their snorting and messy chewing when they sighted the uniformed soldier; and to them, in the darkness, under the brilliant hue of stars and midnight sky, he appeared quite ominous.

The seeqs instantly scrambled for their nearest weapons, fumbling awkwardly that one of them fell over and rolled in the sand, nearly touching the burning wood fires. He squealed painfully and grappled helplessly for the hammer that lay within his reach. The other seeq grabbed his very large cockatrice drumstick, holding it possessively close to his breast, "What do you want!? You want our food? You won't find us easy prey!"

"Calm yourselves." Gabranth ordered, he looked through the slits within his helm, "I'm here to enter the passage, I'm not interested in a battle."

The seeqs visibly relaxed, but they chuckled to each other, the one with the drumstick, holding it now like a weapon chortled out a warning, "It's dangerous in there, but we're guarding it good. We're being well-paid for our services too." He laughed with pride, round stomach jiggled like a flan-jelly.

Gabranth could see that he was wasting time with these half-wits. He walked past, and uttered low, "If you happen to see a hume-female, in a pink skirt, armoured in white and gold, do detain her, as much as you can. Do not harm her in the process, and you shall be rewarded well."

The seeqs resumed their places and shrugged, jutting their pig-snout noses in the air, "we won't do any such thing unless we are paid first."

Greed was what these adventurers seem to only acknowledge, and the Judge procured a few gils, throwing them into the sand, and into the fire. The seeqs covetously groped at the chink of coins, squealed in pain when their thick blackened fingers touched the fire.

The double doors opened for him, without a key, without warning, and he stepped into the all-consuming darkness. When he saw the lights from a distance, he noticed that these were in the form of some kind of fire-light, floating all over the covered sky.

He met with a few mimics at first, but they crunched easily beneath his boot. A few toads hopped in front of him and he stood there—before two giant sized amphibians, took out his double sword and with one swoop, sliced them in half. He even contemplated to have them later for a meal, and that would be a rather nice meal for the Lady Ashe. His lips curled at the delectable thought.

It didn't take long for him to find her, crossing a few heavily magickal dark skeletons. It was with a little effort that he, perhaps was delayed. When he sighted her, she was with the Imperial idiots he ordered to retrieve her. They were fighting the vampyr bat. It was huge. Incredibly so. One of the soldiers went running, hiding behind a boulder while Ashelia bore the creature with aggressive stabs, but was unsuccessful. She was hit a few times, and the fearless soldier by the her side was more than a little worse for wear—edging close to the edge of red alert, death would claim him soon.

She had stopped before he could reach the incline towards them, saw that her focused stance was trying to bring the much needed quickening; but her soldier who was distracting the foe, was hit hard—so hard he died, collapsing in a heap—he was so far gone that not even a handful of phoenix downs could bring him back.

The attention was now on her; the creature flapped its large wings, hitting Ashelia with so much damage that she fell back with a painful cry. He clenched his teeth and rushed up the hill, his sword gripped by his side.

A silent rage coursed through him as the 'sentence' move sliced through the air, cutting the thick atmosphere. Part of the creature's wing was sluiced clean into pieces, and a shrieking cry was heard through out the passage. It did not take him much too long to take down the foe, for it was part-way damaged. When the vampyr collapsed to the area where the soldier's body disappeared, it left with it a large golden bag. He retrieved it, pocketing it for her.

When he turned to look at Ashelia, she was on the ground with her hand over her abdomen, her eyes were shut closed. But he could see, that she was still breathing. He picked up her body and brought her close to his chest. Gabranth drew his brows together in concern, going down on one knee, settling her down. With this, he was able to procure a valuabe X-potion, dropping the expensive drink into her parted mouth. With a few drops they trickled along her lips; he wiped with his ungloved hand, a finger tracing her bottom lip so that the healing juices glossed and soaked through.

He heard the other soldier whimper behind the boulder, "Is—is he gone? The bat?"

Gabranth would deal with him later, for now, his concern was with Lady Ashe. He waited with bated breath if she would rise, breathed a sigh of relief to find her lashes fluttering, her eyes slowly opening to see her rescuer, "Nay. Nay…" Ashelia whispered in agony, "Not you."

"I would apologize but if I hadn't come along, you would have ended up like the soldier you dragged with you."

She widened her eyes in alarm, "Don't say…he did not make it?" and she reached up with a trembling hand to touch her brow, push away her hair, and tried to lift herself up. Still, the impact of the damage it must have caused her needed some healing. She shuddered against his chest, "I should not—have brought them, they were forced to come along."

The soldier behind them walked up hesitantly, "We was going to come along anyway, Amalia, we would have rather come with you, seeing as you were alone, than to face the Judge." And he stopped as soon as he took a good look at Gabranth.

"Oh no." he whimpered helplessly, "we tried, your honours, we tried!"

"Please don't be angry at them," Ashelia whispered, her eyes pleaded softly, and her hand weakly reached up to touch Gabranth's profile, "It's all my fault."

He felt a strange tightness in his chest, finding it hard to believe that with all her glorified haughty demeanour, she blamed herself. Pulling her body up, he carried her easily, and she did not fight against him. Perhaps she was too tired, too damaged that when she healed she would be the same, spitting vitriol in his face.

Gabranth turned to the soldier, glancing behind him, "do you need potions? If so, heal yourself and follow me out of this passage. We need to get her to safety."

"Aye your honors, and yeah I could use one." He nervously laughed, "by and by are you going to be able to fight the other monsters that we encounter, I seem to have lost my weapon somewhere."

The Judge's muscle ticked along his jaw, and would have felt such cowardice unforgivable but he drew Ashelia's body close, his hand under her knees, and the other pressed against her back, drawing her head to lay on the crook of his neck. He swore he could hear her sigh wistfully; he raised a curious brow at that.

They had managed to get out of their alive, with Ashelia better. By the time they encountered more foes before the exit, she drew her body down and took the bastard sword and fought with him, side by side.

When she slid her sword into the scabbard, the last enemy gone, she turned to him, the slight rise of her chin the only indication of haughty, "I thank you, Gabranth, for coming in time, I would not have managed…" She swallowed and turned away, her face flushed.

"Do you still wish to leave my side?" He asked, and they walked outside into the dalmasca warm night, the cowering soldier following close behind.

"For now, nay, I do not. It was unwise of me to do so, I had always been accompanied with my own, the resistance, that is. Even when I was caught, they had all died by the Imperial soldiers, leaving me to survive. Vayne knew, that it was me."

The seeqs were still there, their cockatrice gone, leaving an empty pit save for the glowing fire and sticks; they saw the Judge and noted the added company, "You made it out alive? Good! You promised us the gil and treasure remember?"

Gabranth was about to pull out the remaining gil he had on him but saw that Ashelia was already extending her hand out, a bag of gil and a few magicites there.

"You promised them as well?" he asked of her.

"Of course, they would keep watch for me, until I made it back out."

He then turned to the adventuring seeqs, "Then you receive nothing from I."

And they would have argued save for the fact that Gabranth sent them an ominous look. They chortled with apprehension, "We gots us lots anyway, right, daguar?" He turned to his paired friend, finding a similar reaction.

Ashelia sighed, weary lined her brow, and as they walked down the hill, approached his ship; she then turned to look at him; the earnest, sweet look in her eyes nearly stunned him, "Gabranth, I am tired, I wish to go back to your home and rest."

He swore he could feel his groin harden, _damn his thoughts—and all he could think of—when she was looking at him in this strange, unreal behaviour was that, he wanted to get inside her, and very soon. _He could recall every curve, every naked flesh of her body. Shame-faced, he cleared his throat and turned away, "Uh, yeah, just allow me to drop off this imbecile back to the barracks."

"Aye, please." She breathed, "At once."

Gabranth hurriedly rushed them inside, his movements agitated and anxious as he pressed a few levers and switched on the lights, the sound of an engine hummed. _Fuck._ His pants felt extremely tight.

He raked through his short-cropped hair, his eyes steady on the lack of air-traffic and was grateful he would not have trouble getting back until he entered the perimeter of Archades border. Even with reason, he knew that she was weary and needed his rest. His reaction to her request, was an involuntary reaction. Gabranth soon stretched his legs as the ship glided along the same paths and was glad that the pressure of his cock was no longer a problem.

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	24. Chapter 24: It's Just Business, Politics

He had dropped the Imperial soldier closer to the barracks, implying that he would have to keep secret; and as much as the soldier appeared afraid, willing to swear an oath, Gabranth did not trust him. He would have to deal with him later.

When they reached his home, Ashelia spoke not a word; the silence between them yawned; the noise of the night creatures, hidden in the small ferns and weeds along his walkway and the garden that was partly growing too long without a gardener seemed to permeate into their awkward awareness. She was holding herself with her arms, gripping her shoulders, and her head was bowed.

He found this disturbing. Lady Ashelia does not bow down with such humility, not as far as he was concerned. Gabranth pushed the entryway, allowing her to enter first. They were swallowed in obscurity, the darkness cloaking their presence. But he could feel her heat close, and closed the door behind him with a click, louder than it should be in the silence. Gabranth could see that she was undecided to stride further into the room, staying by his side.

"Are you not tired?" He whispered, and saw her jump a little from his inquiry. His hand made a gesture for her to ascend the stairs; for surely she knew how to find the room she has spent—they had spent much time in. She shook her head, and whispered something low. He leaned in, "is there something you wish to do?" and his heart started to beat a little faster, and sweat broke out in his hands, "Lady Ashe…"

"Gabranth." She turned to him, "I am sorry." There was an inimitable ache in her tone, of sorrow, "I couldn't wait. I was, in such angry retribution against you, for what you did to me."

"What I did?" He did not like the sound of this, one minute she was apologizing and blaming herself, then she was telling him that he was the cause of everything. Gabranth leaned casually against the door, folding his arms, "You mean the sex?"

She huffed noisily, "Gods, Gabranth have you no shame? If you must be direct, then so be it. Aye, that was what I meant."

"As I recall, it was you who initiated many of our acts, despicable as they may be to you—you rather enjoyed them."

"I should," she breathed, "have waited to go to the Gran Kiltas with you. I should have just done that, but the opportunity to my freedom, away from the Empire's clutches and away from you, spurred my resolve."

"And what should happen when we go to the Gran Kiltas? Do you believe his dreams will show you the way to claiming your crown?"

They still stood in the darkness, for a long while. Their eyes slowly adjusted to the surroundings. And she walked up to him, until her body was near, skin, clothing and armour touching. He swallowed, felt the charge between them, the way it has always been. She closed the distance further, touched his lower lip with her lips, her breath against his skin—so sweet, warm against his jaw, "Gabranth, I had a most terrible dream." The statement slightly took him off guard, but she moved her hand to his waist.

"Do tell?" he could recall all the other dreams he has had with her; and he relaxed, allowing his arms to fall by his sides; but he itched to grip her waist, to bring her against his groin. He knew he wouldn't be able to control his thoughts, couldn't control the way his body reacted to her and if she would act in the same manner that she had, when she tried to benefit from this weakness, taking advantage of his need.

"When you mentioned," she told him softly, the feel of her hand now moving slow over his armor, touched the clips that held them together, nimble fingers prying them loose; he silently regarded her—watched in the dimness, waited, his breath hitched as he felt her leg press against his, "that you—that we need to take precaution, I did not realize that, that we would have to take much heed for the future, if indeed we find that I could bear your child."

And her voice deepened, almost sharp, "my father's murderer." She ridiculed, and her lips were pressed gently against the corner of his mouth, "I do not understand you, Gabranth, I do not care at this point. The time we've spent together, I have rescued you and you I. I no longer feel the way I do weeks ago. Instead, I've come to accept our arrangement. For the time being."

He could feel his throat constrict as she peeled away each plating, the breast plate undone, too heavy for her, perhaps, but she managed with two small hands, until he stood there wearing only his pant-trousers, his groin covered in the hard leather striping that lined to the top of his waist loop, to the bottom of his crotch. She had pulled the light jerkin he wore underneath his armour over his head, discarding it over the floor, so that when she was able to have him half naked, her fingers spread over the corded-muscles, the well-built lines and hard flesh. Gabranth brought her body close—clasping his fingers around the material of her short skirt. It was difficult for his fingers to find a hold, managing to pull the material up, her under-things showing. When he found his hold, it was with his hands cupping her shapely rear, hauling the apex of her sex to his. She answered back in turn.

"Gods, Ashelia, what are you doing? Do you know what you are doing?" He leaned in, whispered roughly, "I won't be able to cease, if you continue in this manner, you play these games and I consider to harbour a feeling, that you're madder than those I've seen sitting in the cells of Nalbina Dungeons."

"Shut up and kiss me, Gabranth." She ordered.

And for a split moment, he could recall the dream, his eyes widened, mouth parted in half-surprise, before finding her lips against his, hot tongue slipping in. Gabranth groaned loudly, pulling her to him, pressed her groin against his so that she would know—know the unmistakable need she wrought. He heard her moan, almost with a kind of dazed ardor. He felt incredibly lightheaded, grabbed the generous part of her hair into his fist and pulled her closer, his tongue played with hers.

It was, surprisingly to them both, a long, sweet kiss, unlike all the other times, where heat and need was prevalent; the moment was electrically charged, like a falling combustive nethicite; eventually they pulled away, their lips smacked with the parting, as if they couldn't pull apart, and they stood staring at each other, breathing hard.

"Should I carry you upstairs?" He asked, hoarse even to his ears.

"Gabranth." She told him sadly, "please, just make me forget."

He did not know what made this change, but he did not care. And almost too eagerly, swooped her into his arms and walked up the stairs, her head against the crook of his neck.

When they entered into the room, they were met with only the low light streaming into the window; the distant traffic lights created small spots of shadow and movement along the linen sheets. The canopied bed had been made, most likely by the paid help that came weekly. He placed her body down on top of the covers and she did not let go, her hand at the angle of his profile--fingers lightly touching the day growth of blond beard--the other pulling him close. He bent his head, lightly touching his lips to hers, his fingers pulling at her clothing, efficiently dumping them on the floor, his leg wedged between her thighs.

Gabranth tried not to rush things, but she was now pressing her groin against his, kneeling on the bed, her hand at his back, smoothing over the contours and flawlessness of his hard flesh. With a release of her lips he whispered against her cheek, "Ashelia, will you promise me you will never leave like that?" His forehead against hers with a gentle pressure, her breath sweet--warm, lips barely touching.

"Nay, never." She said with an ache in her voice, "But, depart I must, once I acquire my kingdom, Gabranth. Never forget that."

And he stared into her eyes for a long moment, "I had not doubt that that was the intention, once you retrieve your identity."

"You can't," she gasped as his hands thumbed her nipple, a heated kiss against the column of her throat, "ever share my bed again."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he told her as he brought his mouth down to her collarbone, "I have distaste for the monarchy; and your kingdom, Ashelia is the kind of policy that does not resonate with mine own. I could never serve under you. At least," he lifted the corner of his lips, showing a flash of white teeth, "not that way."

"Then it is agreed?" She said, her mouth against his neck, licked out with a hot tongue, "We can never do this again, after my claim…?"

"You told me to shut up awhile ago, Ashelia." He grinned in the dark, "now allow me to finish this," and he pushed her down gently, pulling her under things over her legs, pressing his finger against her heat. She gasped and shuddered, bit her lip and moaned loudly. He bent her leg with one push, so that she was spread; her other leg wrapped around his waist, and with one smooth push, he drove deep. Gabranth didn't have to ask her, or hear the words of assurance from her lips—_because he knew_, knew that Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca could take everything, trembling in orgasm when his cock buried, hitting against her spot.

An hour had passed, they lay there quietly, and he listened to the steady sound of her deep breathing, the soft sighs, her breath against his neck. He found the warmth of her arm across him, somewhat soothing, and something in him, perhaps—the madness has spread, from her to him. Or from spending much time in Dr. Cid's presence in the past, whichever the reason, he leaned down to plant a kiss against her forehead. She had woken up by the affectionate display, her eyes fluttering open. Ashelia propped up, moving her naked leg along his. Gabranth's breath caught as his eyes followed her achingly slow movements, felt her hand glide downward, making a bee-line towards his cock, to gently fist around him, testing his hardness. She shifted her weight until she was where she wanted to be. He knew, without a doubt that she was ready again, straddling his hips; she steadied herself above his cock, while his hands were holding her hips, her waist. Gabranth could only moan helplessly as she brought her body down.

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	25. Chapter 25: Kiltias & Shrines

The Gran Kiltias Anastasis was still asleep. Ashelia waited patiently, and felt a hand at her elbow, who was not Gabranth's, "Come, let us go down the hill, there is food there waiting, the immigrants flocking towards the smoke, see there." The viera's voice was firm, pointing towards the stretched lone line of white smoke billowing towards the sky-torn Ivalice. From here the blue-sea blanket of Mt. Bur-Omisace was precariously close to the clouds. Ashelia nodded, hunger was nagging her. She had promised Gabranth that she would no longer escape him willingly, and the trust between them seemed to be an unsaid written agreement that allowed her to roam freely upon the mountain. He dropped her off by the entrance, to trek alone with the others. It would not do for an Archadian ship to be seen, nor his presence to be welcomed. They would look upon him with much suspicion. In addition, he had to go back to the palace, there was much work he had to do, for he had spent too much time with her.

It was not a matter of consequence, really—he assured her, due in part that Vayne had insisted that most of his duty time would be spent searching for her. She was not sad to see him go, nor did she feel anything other than the faint tinge of desire when he nearly wanted to kiss her goodbye. And he had hesitated, only to be curt, almost clipped in their farewells, rushing back into his ship and left her with haste. Ah, but it would not be goodbye, since he would return for her by nightfall. She would be safe here among the many stationed kiltias, among the blue and white uniformed worshippers. There were plenty of humes in ragged clothing, and desperate long looks, that bespoke of hunger and long treks out of their war-torn countries. But there were vieras like the one who tried to console at present, taking pity on her extended wait. She must have been waiting here for hours. Her feet had not felt the soreness, her legs did not fold from under here, nor had she felt the desire to depart. But common sense told her she needed to take the much needed pause. The hour was high, as the sun would have been above the clouds, the floating mini-lands too far to see.

She turned to the long, willowy viera whose white shocking hair ran down past her back, lean and supremely beautiful—that was what Ashelia thought, upon looking at her, it was with some rare occurrence that she had seen their race before in Rabanastre. It was not often, but this one had accompanied her up the hill to visit the Dreamer of dreams, the prophesing old man. He had slept for days, perhaps weeks, and she could only wring her hands in frustration. The last time she was here, Gabranth and her had only spent a little less than half an hour, returning immediately to his ship to spend more time in each other's company. She could laugh a little at that, as ironic as that sounded—her the princess who believed that she would never take another into her bed, as far as she was concerned, for Rasler, her prince should have been the one that would be by her side till old age. That was not to be. The cold fate of the war had torn her world apart, stolen a prince, a husband too young yet, ripped her kingdom like the hand of a terrible storm. But she had fared better than the rest who had been victims of the war. Vossler had rescued her, kept her hidden, and there were plenty of company with the full brigade of new recruitments who wanted to join the resistance. They too, many of them had been ripped apart by Vayne's ruses and clever strategies. She would give Vayne some benefit that he was indeed quite vicious, more so than perhaps his father.

Ashelia turned to Ieeha, nodded, "that would be nice, but I must return here thereafter."

The viera did not smile, but there was a faint reflection of kindness in her eyes, and she had told Ashelia that she was much too wary of the world; they walked side by side down the hill, past the uniformed worshippers and tired travelers

"You have not come alone?" Ieeha asked tentatively. The viera walked on these very high shoes, with heels as thick and as high as four to five inches, perhaps, and yet, she managed quite like anyone wearing flat-constructed heels. The length of her legs looked to be about a mile high. The princess was sure that the male species of any type would be intrigued by such unique and exotic viera beauty.

"Nay, I would have wished the Gran Kiltias would wake soon, for this is my second attempt," Ashelia was ashamed to reveal that her first was not too long. They had turned the bend, and saw the arch above where the grand exit separated the immigrants and the worshipper's shrines. Here, they would eat like all the rest, alongside those of the Kiltias faith, the acolytes; or just the desperate, hungry humes searching for a roof over their heads. There was no distinction of race, upbringing, or status here. The viera was perhaps one of her kind amongst this sea. They had not even questioned Ashelia's presence, for her simple clothing had not given much away, discarding the pink skirt she normally wore for something more modest and warmer, much longer skirt. The clouds here carry the cool, frost-bearing wind from the Paranima Rift.

When they reached the open kitchen camp site, the smell of food reminded her of how famished she was. Fortunately there were only a few standing in line, so that when it was their turn, Ashelia was given some warm food, upon a common chipped plate, the distinguishable cooked fragrance of meat was good. She could not pinpoint what they were about to eat, and there was a question that hung in her mind of what she was about to partake in. The viera sent her a look of concern, "You need not worry about what they feed us here, for food is scarce and there is much for every one; think on it that you are fortunate, more so than them."

It was a statement and a prejudice the viera must have formed about her, Ashelia thought, "I would not refuse what they offer me, I am grateful," her head bowed towards the serving hume who was allocating the food, dumping a generous spoonful of something green and smashed on her plate.

"Tis vegetables, of course," The server grinned toothily, "eat up with your meat, and please, move aside for there are others waiting as well." He motioned Ashelia and Ieeha to the side as more hungry travelers stood waiting in line.

The females sat by another adjoining campsite, where there were sitting arrangements for those who could find a seat, or a rock to lean on, the fire in the middle brought a kind of warmth to the cool air that dominated the mountain. It was warmer here, to compare to the boundary by the rift, where the snow fell, whitened the ground like a bleached carpet.

When they had finished, Ashelia was grateful for the offered drink, despite the taste of cheap, almost too strong wine, and proceeded without the viera to trek back up the hill. She had hoped, this time, perhaps Anastasis would wake. Her heart felt heavy at the thought that she would have to return. She passed by the small crouching wizened nou mou; they were acolytes of the Kiltia religion. They had given her looks of curiosity, and returned once more to stand on their high pedestal to give a speech, while onlookers looked on with avid interest. The steep stairs took her some time before she was upon more nou mous who bowed to her, said something significant about the worship they did, and allowed her to continue the narrow path towards the sleeping Anastasis.

She stopped, only to see that she was not alone in her quest, for there was a child and a tall dark-skinned hume, both dressed resplendent to be commoners. She did not attempt to close the distance, but tried to listen to their conversation. The tall hume wore strange exotic clothing that gave her the impression that he was not from anywhere she had seen, then it dawned on her. She had seen him before, or rather, had been privy to his race of humes on the other side of Ivalice. A Rozarrian. She could not help the slight intake of breath and he turned, his sunglasses seem to sparkle, reflected from the distant sun, his long black wavy hair moved like a caress along his dazzling jacket.

"So we are not alone, Lord Larsa," he said, with a low amused tone, raising his sunglasses, his eyes lit up as he spotted her, "allow me to introduce myself," and took no time at all to bow as elegantly as he could, ringed hand over his chest, the mischievous hint of smile there, "Al-Cid Margrace of the Rozarrian Empire, and this," He turned towards the small child, who was not too small, but stood tall for his age, the maturity belied his youthful appearance, "is the Young Lord Larsa, of the Archadian Empire."

Lord Larsa bowed gracefully before her, "Most honoured to meet your acquiantance. We have only just arrived."

Ashelia sucked in the air through her teeth, and swallowed; she was met by both her enemies, and her world seemed to be constricted in a kind of bubble where now even she could not take refuge on Mt. BurOmisace, and ask for where she might acquire the needed power. She needed this more than anything, right now, this moment, and at every turn, the gods have denied her for two long years.

Hoping they had not seen the alarm in her countenance, she bowed as graceful as she could; how they could mistake her for other than a simple traveler who was perhaps a little more than fortunately dressed—did not sit well for her subterfuge to blend in. Her features were too unmistakably more aristocratic, perhaps too foreign as well, or too composed to be other than a commoner.

Al-Cid approached her steadily, the hawkish look behind his dark sunglasses could not be mistaken, and with such a flamboyant and bold gesture, he took her hand within his—felt the warmth and solidity of it, brought it close to his full warm lips, kissing along the surface with obvious intent, "May we inquire as to what name or title this beauty before us would be called?"

She took a deep breath, and another female would find his attentions and gregarious ways quite dangerously charming. Ashelia smiled as pleasantly as she could, "Amalia, from Rabanastre." The lie was easy, use the name she took as a cover and though she was on the edge of blubbering out her late Prince's kingdom; the recollection of the immigrants who left there were no less better off than those who flocked here.

"Amalia," he tested the name on his lips, brought his sunglasses up over his head, the glint in his dark eyes were assessing, probing and not entirely believing her lie, "You are here to have an audience with the Gran Kiltias as well?"

She was disappointed that she had not waited here and had gone down to the refugees campsite to eat her meal, which must have taken too long. Perhaps a couple of hours had passed, or an hour, but during that space, she would have to wait behind the flamboyantly dressed Rozarrian and the royally-elegant Archadian child.

"Aye, I would beg an audience as soon as possible; I have been waiting here for hours, so I must—must with urgency speak with him."

The young lord approached her, "Your urgency is well noted, Amalia, fear not, we have come only just so, and when the Gran Kiltias may grace us with his wakeful presence—we had hoped very soon, your request to see him may come before ours."

Such a very gentle, yet forceful young Archadian, she had thought, blinking back her surprise. And quite well-mannered, for he bowed his dark head in a gentle fashion, his dark eyes so innocent and stead-fast. Just at that moment, as if the Kiltias himself had been listening to the small exchange, the old wizened Anastasis grumbled noisily as if out of a long-rested sleep, clearing his throat.

Ashelia rushed eagerly towards him, passing the two obvious royals that were quite in shock and awe at the interruption, "Gran Kiltias, I must speak with you!" then her mind raced, for how would she discuss the much needed privacy of wanting her identity back? Would he-- the great prophesizing Anastasis-- all knowing and all seeing, see through her desperate need? Would he understand, without her saying the words what she wanted?

But he was already speaking in multiple voices that echoed like a rumbling, rolling thunder, as if they were enclosed into a chamber that bounced their words, "Ashelia B'Nargin Dalmasca." He simply said, and the gasps of royals behind her made her shoulders slump, her world careen. She closed her eyes tight.

The Rozarrian spoke loudly from behind, "The princess of that tiny realm is no longer, why speak of her name, Gran master of dreams?" It was evident that his tone implied great suspicion.

"Because she wishes to acquire her throne back," the words were truth enough, so true that she shook her head, not in denial but in shocked awe.

"She does seek power. And she come to you in her greatest need. Please, please, Gran Kiltias, you're her only hope." It sounded quite dramatic, but it was mostly true; and at present, he was the tiny slither of hope from this madness she was thrown into.

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	26. Chapter 26: The Viper Among Us

Gabranth was on his way out, heading back towards his ship, the hour close to the setting sun, and he hoped he was not too late. He was stopped immediately by a courier, bearing a note, sealed in wax; and upon retrieving it, he knew that he was called immediately to Vayne's offices. With haste, the letter was opened, and upon scanning it, he drew a heavy sigh. The Lady Ashelia would not be pleased that she would have to wait upon the mountain for awhile longer, but he told himself, she would have to.

He strolled down the long corridor, the sound of his armour clanked his announcement; his footsteps faint and muffled by the carpet below, bearing patterns and colours entwined in the darker shades of red and black. When he entered, Vayne's back was to him, the long dark wavy hair moved along the shoulders of his resplendent coat as he stood in front of the open balcony, standing upon the pristine marbled steps, his gaze over the rooftops and tall strutting buildings of all Archade's glorious achievements. His hand was as usual, clasped behind his back, and he turned once Gabranth announced his presence.

"Ah, good you're here. I have a request to make, this one is especially for you, Gabranth." He sent him a kind of smile that was edging quite like the one he gave him when he was ordered to give Lady Ashelia a child. This was not good.

"Your excellency, wouldst it not be best if you could ask another Magister?" It was a chance he would have to take, despite the raised questioning brow Vayne sent him.

"Indeed?" Vayne's expression has not changed, the mischief still hovering along the edges of his lips, "And what may that be, Gabranth? It had better be something to do with the Lady Ashe."

"With good news that your lordship would find very promising."

"Ah, do share!" Vayne walked up to the table where the decanter of strong spirits sat, and even as the light of the dying sun brought a sheen of unnatural beauty across the Archade's sky—the hovering aircrafts soundless and streaming across the distance—Vayne's visage seem to appear like a dark shadow, dimming his appearance and creating a sharp relief in the backdrop. He picked up two crystal glasses, one for himself, and poured another for his commander, "I am eager to find out what you have managed to do, Gabranth. I knew…I knew there was a reason why my father chose you as his favoured Magister." He placed his lips over the rim of the glass, tasting the strong clear-glossy liquid, "So good…best tasting in all of Archades. Do try one with me."

Vayne handed the glass to Gabranth, and the Judge took it within his gloved hand, the clear crystal held the pungent scent, making him feel a little dizzy. He hadn't eaten the entire day, save for a little nibble of breakfast and even then, he had been preoccupied with Ashelia in one of their quick morning gambols. It was, he assessed quite difficult to do much if he slept next to her, and waking up with the woman only served to bring his unneeded desire much activity & excess exercise. He brought the drink to his lips, felt the fiery liquid burn his throat, and he swallowed hard. With a forced cough, he swiped his lips with the back of his gloved hand.

"Cuts you in half doesn't it, Gabranth?" Vayne sneered, "Excellent stuff really, the flavour will come immediately, an aftertaste---in a few seconds; much like a powerful kick in the gut." He picked up the decanter, and with the last rays of sun, the light filtered through like a piercing sword, the glass and shine looked like it coveted the nethicite's mist. Gabranth was almost feeling the pain with acute intensity, just as Vayne suggested.

Gabranth felt like stumbling, but he forcedly stood stock still, tried for an expressionless approach, "My liege, Lady Ashelia, I know where she is," the words seem to flow out of him, like a betrayal and a sharp knife, "she…" he gasped, "she is in…." he closed his eyes, to shut out the light—even as the light has disappeared over the horizon, over the buildings in the far distant.

Vayne was upon his Magister in moments, grabbing the back of Gabranth's neck, bringing the man closer to him, "Aye, I know. I know where she is, hound. And I know everything, but you'll lie here, until my…" he stopped long enough for another presence to walk into the halo of light, as this Magister was shielded in the darkness, of the balcony's hidden corners.

Judge Bergen stood there with his lips stretched; showing a generous display of broad teeth, wide mouth and craggy face, not a handsome sight, but his presence was enough to quell many soldiers and citizens alike. Not many would want to face this particular commander of the Imperial Archadian Army. Of all the Magisters, he was more of a gruesome mastiff, more hound than Gabranth.

"We shall retrieve the princess, and bring Larsa safely, to where he belongs, here," Vayne said, quietly, soothingly against Gabranth's ears. For a moment, there was a slight resistance, but was met with a fist, was hit hard enough that Gabranth stumbled back. Knew the blow was not done by the Lord Vayne, not so much as a touch---save for the fierce hold--when a Solidor's grip had managed around the back of his neck.

Suddenly without another warning--Gabranth still dazed and smarting from the backhand---was violently slammed into the wall, landing on the table, with a loud crashing thud. He made a pained sound as he slid downward. With his forced weight upon the shiny lacquered table, the contents fell messily, rolling around on the marbled floor--it broke in half. He groaned, reached up to touch his head, legs apart and in terrible pain. But he did not know which excruciating ache was worse—the one that he received by Bergen's fist, or the one that was sitting in his stomach. The strong clear liquid had burned his insides like the taste of acid and venom, and he wondered if he had been…poisoned. He looked up with through half lidded eyes, flickered, images of Vayne standing there with his hands on his hips, fingers curled outward, his dark wavy hair on the side, obstructing his eye, shading his profile. The Judge Magister Bergen standing guard next to him.

Bergen snarled, baring fangs, much like a giant mastiff, and if he were truly a beast--one of the Army's hounds--he would possess a beefy stature: bleached-unwashed blond hair, straggly as his face, scarred and ominous bearing his ugly visage, "You have our Vagrant Princess, have you not, Gabranth? I shall go in your stead, to retrieve the Dalmascan insurgent."

Anger boiled within Gabranth, but he could not find the strength to move, the burning liquid was distracting his senses and he had to shake his head to find the leverage he needed, clenched his fists, and pulled himself up with a steady hand against the wall, he stared hard at Bergen, "If I were not so.....,"

He reached up to press a hand over his forehead, the pain was like a hot iron brand, like a stinging slap in the face, continued speaking to his fellow Magister with clenched jaw, "….....preoccupied, I would find some form of combat with you, Bergen, and as much as you conceive to believe you are skilled at your swordplay.." He breathed heavily, sucking the air like one who needed the last gulps of precious time, and his eyes stared at the vulgar sword Bergen held, "…and as much as you pompously strut your weapon as if it bears a wicked edge, I find, it is no more harmless than a childish toy."

Bergen growled, stepping forward, his hand gripped the golden curving sword--spikes and horns seem to grow out of it; and with purposeful and violent intent, was about to back hand with his large fist to Gabranth's face, "Shut that pretty mouth of yours, Gabranth, or you'll end up with a split bleeding lip, I'll make it possible that no one would recognize it. Or, if you wish, you shall end up dead as your Drace."

But was stopped immediately by Vayne's steady hand. "Now, now, no more backhands to the Princess's donor," Vayne chuckled darkly, the suggestion sounded cruel and full of mocking implications.

"As much as I enjoy seeing our Landisian hound bow down to me, for you see, Bergen, he has secretly been my father's personal hound. For how long, I know not. Apart from his other duties, he has spent more time with my father than any other Magister has. " then he approached Gabranth, gazing darkly at him, "Was he like a father to you, Gabranth? Hmpf, more to you than he was ever to me. I hold you, I'm afraid, some ill-will; however, much my sire does not display affections to his sons. Only Larsa was, ever his favourite, because, it was ever the first time he has witnessed a child of Solidor line to possess such an angelic heart, I believe. And you..."

Then Vayne turned to speak to Bergen, "I so enjoy seeing his pride displayed most dishonourably, because," he returned to his quarry, reaching out to cup Gabranth's chin, turning his face for his perusal, "his pretty face is most valuable, for at least the long term. Lady Ashelia would still need his assistance should she not find herself with child."

Gabranth's lip curled, pulled his face away from the touch.

Vayne chuckled, returned to the table, picking up his drink, brought his glass to his lips and took another long sip, "Gabranth, the drink I offered you, you find it tasteful?"

"What did you--," he croaked, falling back against the wall, "did you give me?"

"Pffssh," Vayne waved his hand, "Tis nothing but a slow remedy, or rather something I purchased from the apothecary, to keep you from telling the lies, and from doing anything that would harm you."

"What are you going to do?" He whispered, the fear piercing through his head, because he worried, worried for once, about someone. And for this, he hadn't cared about anything, but the thought—the thought of Bergen retrieving the Princess made his gut twist.

"Ah you are worried about your Princess?" Vayne snorted, "I find your affections always, tsk tsk, touching. You do not love her _do you?"_

The consul leaned in, bent his head to look into Gabranth's eyes, "Nay? I did not think so. You are incapable of such things. And which is why, I find you much valuable. In so many ways. You are, truly a diverse kind of Commander of the Imperial Army. Much the hound who clings to the Empire's values. You shall remain in the palace, and I shall send you beautiful dancers, beautiful hume-females, and even hume-males with beautiful faces. With bodies you could not resist, to purge the image of the Princess. How is that, Gabranth for your reward?"

He could only croak out a forced response, his tongue felt heavy and stung, could not help but curse, "Shit. My lord, I could not accept …." Gabranth exhaled, leaning heavily against the wall, the darkness has fallen upon them, and the sky was lined with the distant stars of traffic and pollution, shadowed arching buildings seem to intrude his thoughts, for he was growing tired with the tugging insistence of sleep.

Even the lie was painful to utter, "It would be too much, Lord Vayne. To have such a generous offer, I am not worthy." And was all he could manage to say, as helpless as he felt; and truth be told, he did not give a fig for dancing girls or boys or company or such things at this point. All he wanted was to wake from this nightmare. His last coherent thought before his lids fell heavily, drowning him into the realm of an abyss, was the image of Ashelia B'Nargin, and her waiting by the entrance of Mt. BuriOmsace. Her face lined with worry first, then anger, because she would be furious for his lateness, and if she could, would cuff his face for leaving her alone for too long, for believing in him that he could be trusted.

-----

Ashelia sent the Dreamer of dreams a look of desperation, her back was to the extravagant Rozarrian and the princeling, and the wizened look she received was one of understanding.

"Does the Princess need power then and you are here to help in that cause?" Anastasis asked, rheumy eyes blinked to focus.

"Aye, please, for she could not come." She wrung her fingers together, hearing the disbelieving scoff Al-Cid made.

"This is quite nonsense, I beg to question this, if you would forgive me, but I believe for two years, Amalia of Rabanastre, that your Princess is long gone. Unless, there is something that even my little birds have not been able to unveil to me?" He walked up beside her, his dark eyes were suavely seductive, almost charming in his allure, "permit me to be of assistance, Amalia, if you do serve the Princess in private, for you shall find me a willing partner of silence."

She blinked, "I- I thank you, but, I do not think," pausing, her eyes were on the Dreamer, and he spoke up, the sound of his voice like a multitude of sounds.

"She shall find power in the sword of Kings in The Shrine after the snow has fallen, and the dream tells me that Ashelia should take the dawn shard first from the Emperor who would keep it in his treasury."

She gasped, and Larsa's voice was filled with deep interest and alarm; he stepped up, "What is this? You say that my brother has the dawn shard?"

"Curiouser and curiouser." Al-Cid loudly mused, his long elegant fingers rubbing his thinly trimmed dark beard, "I would like to see where this all goes, for if the Princess does live, it would not make a difference, for war is upon us."

Ashelia's gaze fell upon Al-Cid. For he was about to utter something about how the war will continue. She thought, regretfully, it was due in part that she had not a wit of power to claim her identity; yet, stilled her tongue.

The Gran Kiltias remained speaking, as if he had not heard the boy and the Rozarrian, "Do this, take the dawn shard from the one who has sealed it away, then take the Sword of Kings, and the shard will tell you, tell the Princess, what she must do."

"That sounds quite, unfeasible." She breathed, but then thought; nay it was not so impossible, for Gabranth worked closely with the Empire, with Vayne, with all the Judges and could, possibly do this for her—take the shard, find it within the treasury hold and procure it for her. She was sure he would do this for her, would he not? "I could, possibly retrieve the Sword of Kings. Where may I find it?"

"Go to the Stilshrine, down at the very bottom of the hill, past where the snow has melted, and the ancient patterns of old and new welcome you; you will find there are acolytes there that will greet you if you have what I shall give you for your entrance."

----

When Mt. BurOmisace was cloaked in midnight, there was not a stitch of corner bearing the hand of darkness, for there were plenty of hand-made fires, and plenty of humes that held cheerful faces, of the smell of food and smell of ointments. Ointments for healing and potions that were to cure the weary traveler of their red and puffy blisters, their backs, which had held long heavy bags, the intense weight on their shoulders, bearing much, and longing for the freedom and roofs over their head. The resilent acolytes were still on their pedestals, preaching words of wisdom and tales of the fiercest and of the bravest, of their faith and what must a citizen do, to keep the creed within their lonely souls.

She had waited, by the fires, until someone had given her a blanket, and saw that Lord Larsa had come upon her to have a conversation, "My brother has sent a ship over, I have been told, and if your company should be too late, you may, if you wish, accompany me. I shall take you to where you need to be."

The thought of his brother Vayne made her wince inwardly, she took a deep breath, was fond of the child really, and grateful for his kindness, "Thank you, but I'm very sure that he will be coming here. In fact, perhaps," she drew her brows together at the very thought that he may come to retrieve Larsa as well, and would that not be surprising for the lot of them? There would be much to discuss and what would Larsa think, when he found out that one of his Magister's has been spending time with Amalia---an unknown female hume who was not quite commoner in appearance, but was strangely, composed as any noble hailed from the wealth of Archades?

She was also surprised that Al-Cid Margrace was still hovering in the area, for he was the last to speak to the dreamer, finding himself next to Ashelia. But this time he was not alone. By his side were two women, of the same colouring, dark hair and looking quite obscure as if they were meant to observe and cling or hover helplessly against him. She found the entire situation a little disturbing, but tried not to offend, sending him a tremulous smile.

If Gabranth did not get here soon--for she would not want to sleep in the tents they had already offered for her to climb in should the hour be too late---did not feel it would be wise to postpone another day without going to the Shrine, or at least attempt so---she would ask Ieeha to accompany her. There was something in Ieeha that told her that she was much experienced with traveling alone and looked very skillful in combat. The bow and arrow she had seen in the viera's possession was nothing she had ever seen before. She could not trust the Rozarrian, and the young Solidor-- though he be charitable and kind, was too associated with his brother. It was generous of these people to share their tent, but felt too that she would only be taking up extra room, for there were still refugees trickling in.

-----

When Gabranth woke, he was in a room, in bed, he was sure, as his eyes tried to adjust to his surroundings. He could not know what time it was and he was stripped of his armour, down to his breeches, torso naked and there were females next to him, and a male who looked no older than fourteen, holding a feathered fan over them; he was perhaps, would have been older since it was difficult to tell; but his body was lean and bore no muscle or fat, his face child-like and youthful and innocent. The women were sitting next to him, two of them, colourfully dressed, painted faces, stroking his body; one hand slid down his naked chest, fingers spread, and giggled behind a diaphanous veil, her eyes a dark hue of violet and lined with kohl.

"Beautiful, is he not, sister?" She whispered, and the other giggled with her, "We are here to pleasure you, Lord Gabranth, for your reward, gifted by our Emperor Vayne." Then she leaned down to plant a wet kiss against his chest, leaving a stain of painted red there, and Gabranth pushed them gently away.

"Nay, I apologize, but I do not wish this right now." He pushed himself up, "you will have to leave," but was distracted for a moment as one of them gently groped his groin.

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	27. Chapter 27: Dungeons & Dancers

**The Last Night of Imprisonment:**

It was not too long before Basch heard the footsteps of newly arrived visitors. He was sure that they were not the guards, it was not yet time, too early. His arms ached, muscles sore and his hunger appeased. Gabranth had promised to up his provisions, giving him less of an empty stomach, but more aware of the pain that seared his flesh. They were not fresh wounds; however, since there was little of anyone of healing powers tending to him, the old wounds had not healed completely. The chains bit cruelly into his wrists, causing redness and scarring, and his arms ached with agonizing pain, from the long position they were held in. The chains held his arms above his head for long periods of time, his body falling forward whilst the iron-clad cuffs on his wrists secured his weight like a vise.

When he was able to look up, the sound of two sets of footsteps approaching, the light from above haloed his cage, covering him in a fashion that made him appear as a beast on display, on some kind of freak exhibition, and while he had been here before; it was not surprising to see that his rescuers were the same ones that had aided him before. His eyes were adjusting to the darkness outside the circle of his light, and a pair of long ebony legs came into view. He grunted approvingly, was glad to see someone so familiar and yet, to him, so very beautiful. She had walked closer, her red eyes dark with a kind of pity and strength, her voice appeasing to his ears, "Basch, they had sealed off the bottom floor where you were pulled off, from the last time we helped you escape."

He grunted, part in pain from attempting to move and part in thought—there was no other exit, save for a key, that would help his escape. "The guards, one of them, who serves my meals has it on his possession, a Hoplite Imperial, you'll find them easy to spot, as their helms stand out. The one you seek, he would be near."

"Not quite like the Executioner's helms," another voice intruded, quite cultured and Archadian; and this particular intruder was quite a welcome sight. Basch breathed out with a kind of forced cheerful laugh--his mouth was still painfully numb from the beatings a few days since.

"You look quite a fright, Basch," the new visitor said, "but no need for us to search each hoplite wasting our precious time. Ah. Look at what we have here. Quite handy wouldn't you say?" And the cultured hume retrieved a key from his vest pocket that bore a lion's head—it sparkled even in the light, "I always come with an extra pair." He winked at the blond knight, " made one whilst when we searched through their pockets the first time we went through here. But, you wager why do such a indefatigable action? For it proves nothing but to waste more valuable time?"

" I care not," Basch said weakly, " I am glad for it."

" I do have a story behind this, if you would listen, but not today." Balthier grinned, approaching the cage.

Basch allowed himself a small smile, glad to have made such good friends. He watched through weary eyes as Balthier tested the lock, and after a few moments was able to open the door. It was with some speculation that the key itself would actually fit into his cuffs, and they were relieved that it did. The Dalmascan knight fell face forward, lacking the strength for a moment to hold himself up, and Balthier quickly grabbed him, holding him close.

"Easy, man, easy," He cooed against the disgraced knight's ear, "we'll get you out of here, and quickly, come on, do you have enough strength to move or shall Fran and I aid?"

His body ached, but he tried desperately to pull the strength that was needed, leaning heavily on Balthier's shoulder, "I- thank you, but I shall try to not be a burden.." Even as he strained his muscles to react, his legs folded under him and it was Fran who helped half-carry him.

"We must hurry," Fran warned, "the spell I had casted on the guards would soon wear off, and then there is the matter of several bodies lying along the path here."

"Hopefully, they'll be a hindrance before they find themselves in this room."

They dragged him out of that darkened chamber, leaving the cage opened, the hanging chains swayed back and forth, stained dried blood on its surface, and the sound of distant howling was heard in the connecting rooms.

---

Gabranth would have, perhaps, on another day taken up the generous offer, and perhaps, he would not have. He was particularly choosy when it came to anyone sharing his bed. He even believed that Vayne had always chosen the best possible lovers for entertainment, choosing ones with considerable experience and cleanliness.

He secured his hands over the wrist of one dancing girl, whose hand had managed to possessively clamp over his groin, pulled it off, promptly telling them that he was not interested. And, he felt, nothing down there, not a wit of movement or desire that would normally prompt him to. They were half naked, their breasts clearly evident through the thinly veiled top they wore, their legs bare and wore strips of satiny cloth that were held together by jeweled belts, tight around their waists.

" But, we were supposed to pleasure you, Lord Gabranth, if we did not do our duties, then we would be shamed." The dark-haired female whined, "is it that you find boys to your liking?" She said with her finger pointing at the youth with the fanning large bird feather.

" Nay, I do not wish for any of this," and he wondered why he was even being polite. The pain in his head was subsiding and that was clearly a good sign, "if you have been paid handsomely by Lord Vayne, then see to it that you live to tell that you had done your duty, and well."

"We would lie?" the girl said in shocked awe, "you would then cover for us?"

"I would, now, let me be." He got off the bed, searching for his belongings, but found nothing but a robe. It was better than what he was currently wearing. Tying the robe around his person, Gabranth reached the double doors to find that he was locked in, "Have you three the key to release me from here?"

The boy chimed in, "Nay, we're all imprisoned here, until the morning."

Gabranth looked around the room, glanced around to the food on the table, where there were fruits and caches of wines and spirits, there were towels folded on the table next to the bed, some jars containing a form of lubricating gel, and the smell of smoky perfume wafted from the now dying stick that was placed on the decorated platter. He spotted the window which was, to his disconcertment, barred shut.

One of the dancing girls, the quiet blonde, whose veil was darker, obscured her face, approached him tentatively, "I'm afraid we're stuck here, Lord Gabranth."

He turned to look at her, gazed towards her small figure, the curve of her hips, the golden belt which hung loosely around her waist, small pointed high breasts. Truth be told, if this was another time and place, he would have considered the possibility of bedding her. He turned to the other, fuller, more voluptuous female on the bed, whose dark hair lay in a shiny wavy length, and her skin colouring was smooth and dark, much like a viera.

He recalled that that one called the blonde her sister, "You are related?"

"Nay, we are not," the blonde dancer replied, eyes downcast, " but she has befriended me over the past few months, and we've been as close as sisters can be." Her voice sounded sweet and caressing, and it took a moment for Gabranth to assess the situation.

"Very commendable," he said, and felt idiotic for saying anything at this point, "and who is the boy?"

The dark-haired dancer shrugged her round shoulders, "We know not, Lord Vayne probably assumes you care for young lads."

"He is more than wrong," Gabranth eyed the boy whose eyes stared fixedly with fear, and tried to assure him, "Fear not, lad, you're much too young. Presently, I need to find an exit, and perhaps you ladies could aid me?"

"I would aid you, but only if you take me with!" the blonde dancer begged, "I have to get back to my friends, they don't know where I am. I think they've lost interest." Her eyes were like wet jewels, shining and honest, but he still could not see beyond her dark veil.

"Where is your home, and what is your name?"

"I'm…" she was hesitant, "I'm from Dalmasca, and my friend there, my sister, she's from.."

But was immediately interrupted, "Don't tell him where we're from, he's a Judge! He'll turn on us once he gets his way."

"Please, he's our only hope. Can't you tell he looks nothing like all the others? He has an almost sweet look to him."

Gabranth was a little surprised at that kind assessment, and the other female, who was-- he considered much too jaded, sneered, "Yes, he's handsome, very much!" she said heatedly,

"But you can't be fooled by handsome men!" then looked to him, "no offense, sir, but my sister assumes she knows from one soldier to another. You are actually our third judge."

He was on the verge of asking who, and the image of Bergen bearing down his wide and hulking body over the small blonde one made him feel annoyed. Perhaps, Ashelia had weakened his resolve over such matters. For, was he not the type to annul himself from such gallantry? At least, he pretended so.

"It is fortunate that Lord Vayne presumes both of you to be served, pardon the expression—to his esteemed commanders."

"And we are grateful he didn't execute us," the blonde dalmascan replied, " I have heard of many young girls being in a worse situation. They feed us well, and give us many clothes and a very nice room to sleep in."

"I have not the time for this," He grumbled, walking towards the barred window, finding no access and hidden crevices. When he approached the door again, there was a sound of a mad giggle from the other side. He kneeled, just enough to level his eyes at the key hole, and saw Dr. Cid peering through the other side, one piece of eye glass staring back at him.

"Gabranth!" he cried, laughing merrily, "have not you enjoyed yourself yet?"

The Judge's initial surprise was soon replaced with irritation, "Dr. Cid, what are you doing?"

"What do you think I'm doing?" he giggled, "I'm spying!"

Gabranth heaved a heavy defeated sigh, shaking his head, "get me out of here!" he did not think that the mad doctor would actually bend to his request but moments later he saw him get up, heard some fumbling and a little chatting—with his Venat, no less. In seconds the door was opened.

"I might as well allow your freedom, there was nothing to be had with you not taking advantage of the gifts you were given."

"I did not think you would actually free me." He said in a kind of awe, "I need to find my gear. Have you extra clothing?"

"Now, now, Gabranth, just because I opened the door for you, does not mean I will do everything for you. You and I know that the reasons for your freedom is that it will have to benefit my goals."

"Of course," he breathed, and saw that the blonde dancer stood near him. "what is it that you wish?"

"Vayne has sent his Magisters, Zargabaath and Bergen to retrieve Lord Larsa at Mt. BurOmisace; however, there is a task that you must do, Gabranth. At Pharos. For the price of your early freedom." He tsked loudly, "I cannot imagine why you had not taken it upon yourself to take these dancers. I thought you a very virile young man, Gabranth. Could it be possible that the princess is the cause?"

Gabranth stiffened, "I'm not interested at the moment."

"About Pharos." Dr. Cid reminded.

"That is, quite a long ways from here." He argued, "If you have been monitoring my actions in the past week, then you would know that I have to get to the Princess."

"Yes, yes, I know. I would not worry about our Princess, Judge Gabranth, she may pick up more hunters who are skilled at combat for her cause." Dr. Cid grinned, his eyes glinting with amusement as he must have seen the surprised look on the Judge's face.

"And what of Lord Vayne?"

"Worry not about him, he believes you to be in session with our fine dancing girls for at least tomorrow morning, and if you should not return by nightfall tomorrow, he would assume that you had been delayed by the mist."

"I have to get back to the Princess," Gabranth turned away, frustration lining his brow, "gods, I cannot trust that she would find company safe.."

"Trust me, Gabranth." Dr. Cid leaned in whispering a secret, " I know this."

"Nay, there is still the matter of…Bergen." It was an attempt to persuade the doctor that this was important, that perhaps, his need for combat with the fellow Judge would assuage him.

"Ah yes, _him_." The old man tapped his grizzled trim beard with his white gloved hand, "If you so wish a confrontation with him, then, by all means, go there first, but you must do this for me, Gabranth, and I shall lend you aid from Vayne's backlash."

The blonde dancer piped in, "Please, Judge Gabranth, take me with you. I promise I wont be a burden!" her hands had found their way on his, the fingers pressing against his skin. He looked down at her, at the blue wide eyes, the innocence and honest, open plea.

"I'm afraid you would only get in the way," It was a half hearted attempt to decline her request, and in her eyes there were tears.

She tried again, "I can take care of myself, I'm strong, strong enough to take care of even you," and her tone was bold, confident.

He raised his brow at her, but found to his disconcertment that she was very appealing, and wondered., if all Dalmascan female humes were this charming. Ashelia B'Nargin was first to prove to him that a female hume from the desert had their special, enticing fascination. He felt that he was above this sort of appeal, laying the blame entirely on the Princess's influence.

She continued her entreaty, "you can't see it from my stature, but I'm very skilled, and I learn very quickly."

He turned to Dr. Cid, "Perhaps I shall take this dancing girl and drop her off at her home in Dalmasca." He heard her squeal of happiness, and the look that the mad doctor sent him was of feigned disinterest, shrugging his shoulders.

"I care not who you take with you, as long as you go where I ask you." The old man said, "you shall find your belongings at your barracks, in your personal office, and your ship is where its parked. Nothing has been changed, apart from that you should have been delayed here."

"Then you do not mind if I go immediately to Mt. BurOmisace?" Gabranth said, with much severity, "For that is where I intend to go, first."

* * *

_-to be continued-_


	28. Chapter 28: Military War Craft Above

**The New Girl**

-----

"Are you not coming?" The dalmascan dancing girl had turned to her female companion still lounging on the bed.

"Nay, I like it here. I really do, 'Lo. I really enjoy being the concubine for Lord Vayne and his Judge's."

Her 'sister' ran to the bed and hugged the reluctant dancer, her eyes were filled with more tears, "Oh I'll miss you so much, you've been like a sister I never had, I promise, I'll get you out of here whenever you want to leave."

The woman snorted, then released her younger friend, holding her face between her ringed hands, smoothing her face and wiping away the tears, "there, there, you have that handsome Judge rescue you and take you where you need to go."

Then she turned to Gabranth, her dark kohled eyes narrowed warningly, "I hold you with full responsibility to take care of her, Judge Magister, she is precious to me," then turned back to her friend, saw the fresh tears there, "don't cry, 'Lo, it's for the best, I swear, you know I'm happier here than you ever could be. I'll be more than fine, I took care of myself before you came, remember? You need to be among your people, among the place where you grew up."

'Lo nodded, took a deep breath, "I couldn't have made it through this without you, you know that. You're so strong."

"Not as strong as you," the other woman sniffed, "you lost your family to the war, and how you held up amazes me. But for me? I grew up in Old Archades, looking for scraps to survive on, barely living with a mother who loved her cheap drink more than her children, and an absent inconsiderate father. I had to make do with what I had. This…type of life is luxury for me. And I've learned so much here. I've even learned how to speak better than my own mother!"

And that was true, if according to her tale of living in the low depths of Old Archades—the inhabitants reeked of filth and low education, their speeches and inflections were much distanced from those who lived in luxury in the Imperial city.

Gabranth was getting impatient, "I hate to interrupt such a heartfelt valediction, but if you want to accompany me now," he said directly to the blonde dancer, his eyes hard, "we'll have to depart at once."

"Yes, I'm coming," then she gave one last hug to her friend and waved, rushing by the Judge's side.

Gabranth received more information he needed from Dr. Cid, hurrying to the privacy of his barracks where his armour, jerkin, extra pair of breeches, boots and weapons would be held in. He heard the footsteps behind him which he knew was the dancer's. She kept up with his pace that was evident and when they reached their destination, he closed the door to his garrison, shutting it away from the light. In the semi-darkness, he searched for a candle or lantern that he knew was in here. He lit the lantern, shrouding most of the modest room in a warm glow, showing some meager arrangements that were his closet, a starched bed, not slept in, enough for one person.

He took one glance at the girl who was still by the door, her back against the wall, watching him warily. In the corner, on the chair, there was his weapon sitting against the stool's back, and his armour was hung neatly on a dummy pole, each part had its place, his helm on the wooden table by the lone window. This was not the time to be modest; he proceeded to take the robe off, undid the strings to his breeches, dropping them on the floor around his shins.

One by one he donned each piece of clothing: light jerkin, the new pair of clean breeches, but not bothering for underwear. He went to the crude basin that was sitting on top of the table, the large pitcher containing fresh water—poured the contents into the bowl and started to wash his face. He took out the towel that was folded neatly next to it, brusquely brushing the wetness away from his brow, wiping the moisture away from his cheeks and forehead. He damped the rest of the towel enough to wipe it over his chest, shoulders, neck, wishing he had some soap and time to bathe but it would have to wait until he retrieved the princess and take her safely back to his home. There was some consolation, knowing that he had bathed earlier that day, before dropping Ashelia off at the mountain. He was distracted from his thoughts, turning at the girl's small sound, over his shoulder; saw that she was still watching him, her curious blue wide eyes between innocence and candidacy. But he wagered, she was not quite as submissive as she appeared.

_Desert female humes_, he thought with a slight amusement, a lift of a smile at the corner of his lips. With hurried movements he proceeded to attach his armour and found that the girl was upon him then, her soft voice offering aid, "Allow me to help you, sir,"

"You need not call me sir, I have a name. Gabranth is sufficient." He felt her small hands on his arm, on his chest, until there was only breastplates and metal, leather and sharpened edges smoothed to make him a Magister, "and what be your name?" He had heard her friend call her 'Lo, but preferred her to repeat it from her lips.

"It's not important." She whispered, turning her face away.

He took her chin, brought her face to gaze at him, "then, 'Lo, I shall call you, for that was the name your friend mentioned. I hope you are truthful in what you say you do." He was reminding her, of the promise to be of no hindrance.

"I meant what I said, Gabranth." She told him, the light of the lantern in the modest room dimming low, flickering and shading their exposed skin with a golden hue. Her dalmascan-blues were perusing over his profile, like a caress. A soft sigh released from the outline of the veil she wore; the veil was enough to delineate from an almost heart shaped pair of lips. He drew his eyes away quickly, annoyed for some odd reason and picked up the black leather gloves, shoving them with haste into his hand.

"Mt. BurOmisace, that's my destination, 'Lo. I shall retrieve a woman there, named Amalia." And he wondered if she suspected, she had listened to the conversation he had with Dr. Cid and the word princess was thrown around. She would perhaps think that that was an endearment, but he did not think that she was that naive.

When he was fully armoured, save for his helm, he turned to her, gazing at her figure, the high pointed breasts, the soft round shoulders, the smooth almost rosy skin, and quietly, without asking, pulled away the diaphanous veil that shielded her nose and lips. He was not disappointed. The material was discarded on the floor, unheeded. Although he could see through the shroud before, the true outline of her lips, of what she looked like, was evidently more appealing.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked without shame, gracing him with an offered dimpled smile of her pink gloss-painted lips.

"Aye." He surprised himself with the honest response, glancing at the smallness of her waist, to the apex of her sex, where even the satiny seductive material clung around the shapely thighs, "but you need to wear something besides what you're wearing now. You may give some of the refugees on Mt. BurOmisace much distraction, to think other than their empty stomachs."

"I have nothing." She told him, swallowing, "Absolutely nothing."

He turned away from her, grabbing an extra jerkin that was lying on the bed, handing it to her, "wear this over your body, it will do for now until we find your clothing."

"Thank you, Gabranth." She whispered, bringing the jerkin over her head and securing it around her body so that it fell past her hips, and the satin material puffed out from under it, her legs partly bare.

----

When the camp fires were still burning, Ashelia used the offered blanket and covered herself, warding off the colder climate that the mountain brought from the Paranima. Lord Larsa was with a few soldiers who looked like Imperial soldiers, ones that he came with apparently, but she wondered the nature of his accomplice with the Rozarrian. And just when she had thought the darkly suave tall hume from the West would be gone, he had found a seat next to her by the fire.

"Ah, Amalia from Rabanastre, how fare thee? You have been too quiet, and there are many secrets I believe you keep." He looked into her eyes, had abandoned his girls, where they now stood by the other acolytes, listening in rapt attention.

"If you're here to get an understanding of why I need something for the princess, then there is nothing more we can discuss." She turned away from the intensity of his dark gaze.

"I mean you and your princess no harm, I assure you. That is why the Lord Larsa and I are here, we---like you and your princess, are seeking to end the war."

Ashelia sucked in her breath, shock registered through her, gazing at the Rozarrian with a kind of disbelief and anxious anxiety, "How can I believe you?" she pulled her blanket around her.

"Lord Larsa as you can view for yourself, possesses a very gentle and accommodating nature, and we have agreed to meet in private, unknown to Vayne's knowledge that I am even here. To find a solution, as you yourself have been seeking."

"I –I," she stuttered, hope rising in her chest, "I do not know.." but was immediately rescued by the Archadian lordling who obtained a seat by the two.

"Amalia, it is true," assured Larsa, "I do not want war between my country and Rozarria. Think of Al-Cid Margrace as your friend, if you truly believe him an enemy. I believe that friendships can be had from this if we place our heads together; the future depends on the two empires. I'm afraid my father has met his demise too early; It's been horribly disappointing to find that the Senate who has been convening for many years with him have been accused of his murder. The suspicion lies solely on their betrayal. It was very difficult for me, but I have pulled through, my brother has been a great help."

Ashelia gripped her blanket around her, and thought how innocent Larsa was—to believe that his sire had been murdered by the very Senate that sought to bring his brother down. She had been told during her imprisonment in the Solidor's household by the serving maids who listened and kept silence. According to them it was_ not any member _of the Senate, although they have been conjecturing behind closed doors to try and find a dagger for Vayne's back. Instead, the rumours had been blackening Vayne's name further. On that very black day, they had overheard the mutiny between the Judges that day; it was indeed a day that changed the course of the famed household—the house of Solidor was reduced to Lord Vayne and the Young Larsa. There was a cry of sedition for Vayne's arrest. A beloved Judge who had been overseeing the young Lord was on the spot, tried of treason and executed by a fellow Judge.

Even so, there were only a small handful of them—these prevailing commanders of the Imperial Army and though she tried to educate herself of the political principles of Archadian law, she recalled that there was a lone female hume who took up the executioner's role. Truth be told, there was a small part of her which wondered if Gabranth had had a deeper relationship with the woman. Gabranth had never spoken much of the other Judges, nor of the secrecy of his work; has never mentioned Basch; has always reminded her, even during their intimate moments that he would never kiss and tell.

She felt a deep unwanted flush through out her body of the intimacy they have shared, and how bold she had gotten, taking full advantage of this weakness on her behalf. And she was not so pedantic, nor a terrible prude to understand that she had come to want him; detached her thoughts of everything that held them adrift, but that it brought them closer in a strangely peculiar union. When he was in her presence, it did not take her long to pull his lips to hers, so that she was even begging in silence for more. Perhaps it was the company she kept, making her fully blush like a first time bride, looking around the warm camp fire, of the eager and innocent face of Lord Larsa, the suavely, sophisticated Rozarrian, the others who were on the other side of the fire--unknown faces to her--chatting quietly and cheerfully.

"I am sorry to hear that, Lord Larsa," She hoped that she was sincere enough, for she could find some comfort knowing that Larsa's genuineness towards his father was similar to her affections with the sire that was taken from her, "But I believe that if I were to reveal to you of the Princess's existence, it would prove nothing but a distraction. She is powerless unless I retrieve the sword of Kings."

"Do you wish company then, Amalia?" Larsa asked, "I would accompany you willingly."

"Nay, it is fine. My companion will be here to pick me up and I wager there is another very skilled hunter that I have met, who I feel would be up to the task as well."

He looked quite disappointed, and indeed she wondered if she had offended the young lad, "Oh, I did not mean---I believe you to have skills as well."

Larsa laughed, "It is all right. I can understand your plight. You would begin to wonder why I have such a great interest in the princess. If indeed she is alive. I do believe that she is so, according to what you have said to the Gran Kiltias. You see, Amalia, I have been trying to find ways to persuade the Empire and the leaders of the Rozarrian Armies to withdraw from a war that would, ultimately be disastrous. I fear that my brother does not seem to take interest in communicating with the Rozarrians, and at any rate, he does not know that I had made this rendezvous with a few of my bodyguards whom I trust completely."

"You fear that your brother would be against this?"

"I have, not an idea, I had hoped, that he would be. But things have not been fruitful, for the Archadian armies are still enforcing full training, the garrisons are flooding with new recruits. Military war crafts are still being manufactured, the mines to this very minute are still being uncovered, stripped of the magicites-- the forms of nethicite; they absorb mist, and have been part of the factors that have contributed to the war. Every mine that is possible to enter, so far has been purged, mined properly by researchers, at least, to my knowledge. The Henne Mines near the Golmore Jungle, the Lhusu Mines in Bhujerba. There has nothing to my awareness, any step towards a peaceful negotiation."

She was listening aptly, was very interested in this magicite, or these nethicites of many magicite forms. Perhaps she would ask Gabranth of this. It was then that they heard sounds of people crying out of an arrival over the hovering isles and cloud-filled dark sky. The noiseless engine of the incoming airship drew awed reactions from the refugees all over the lower mountain where they sat.

When everyone had the moment to chance upon a large ship, sought a place to land, over by the arching slope of the hill, close to where Anastasis dreamt, Larsa stood up. He recognized the enormous airship immediately, "That's the Alexander!" he turned to Ashelia, "I'm afraid my ride is here, but please, you must consider my offer to accompany me."

"I can't, Lord Larsa, truly I cannot." She shook her head, was afraid of the consequence, afraid that Gabranth could possibly be on that ship. Even knowing that was not the ship he usually piloted or flew in. There was a remote chance that he could make his way to her after Larsa was taken back to Archades. Perhaps that was why he has been delayed. The knowledge that the young Lord would be on, unless Lord Vayne had requested it of him was enough that he would wait after the hour.

A tall ominous looking figure belonging to another Judge Magister came down the hill accompanying two Imperials, and an army hound. Lord Larsa immediately came upon this Judge, greeting him generously, and while the Judge kept his helm on, she could hear his plea that the young Lord must return immediately. He finally took off the threatening piece of armour, the grand helm to reveal that he was older, much older--perhaps the first Judge of the Imperial Army.

"Zargabaath," Larsa motioned him to accompany him towards Ashelia, "This is Amalia from Rabanastre, and I'd hope that you would not mind if she accompany us? And perhaps make a stop wherever she wishes?"

The Judge made a quick, compulsory bow. The thick, almost wavy grey hair leveled with her line of sight, soon to be staring into the even greyer hues of his eyes. He seemed not to care if Larsa chose to bring an unknown hume female along. His primary concern, she wagered was his Young lord. Larsa, on the other hand, was one who did not seem to give up. _Such a chivalrous child_, she thought with kindness.

And the boy came up before her, bowing respectfully, "I do apologize if I'm very forward, but you see, the men in my family, we are taught to place the needs of others before our own. I could not, with good conscience know that you would be left here without protection."

"It is no need, please, I have someone, I assure you that will accompany me soon and he is, very much a good protector."

Larsa took one last look at her, finally nodding, "All right. Please, excuse me then," bowing once again, "I hope we meet again very soon."

She took note that Larsa had given the Rozarrian a look of something un-communicated, as if there was something else that was non privy to the Judge's presence. She glanced to the Rozarrian and saw that he sent Larsa an equally knowing and silent nod, his arm slung over one of the girls who accompanied him.

The young Archadian lord departed with Judge Zargabaath.

* * *

-_to be continued-_


	29. Chapter 29: Face Off

If Larsa had stayed a little while longer he would have seen something that would perhaps, opened his eyes, but the Young lord's fate would not be available for such horror yet. The youngest Solidor was swiftly rescued by the Judge Zargabaath, taking the 'Alexander' with them. The citizens on that mountain were curious as to why there was another war air craft that followed the departing 'Alexander', now distant in the sky.

Imperial soldiers were disembarking and shoving the citizens to the ground, and while some of the refugees had been quiet and shocked, too weak to move; the acolytes, though not violent by nature managed to acquire meager weapons, trying valiantly to defend the weak.

They were not a match for the trained Imperial soldiers, were immediately killed—stabbed through by weapons with damage higher than the kiltias. The rest who managed to stay alive were shoved neatly away, damaged and bruised, the blood staining their once immaculate blue and white uniform. Simply put, it was a massacre.

The heavily armoured door to the Archadian air craft was still left ajar, where more of the Imperials, now in the dozens were stampeding their way towards the steep stairway towards the Dreamer, and though magicks were used, by the more skillful healers—these helped hold back many soldiers. If physical prowess did not work against the trained Imperials, ancient magick managed to procure their advancement.

Ieeha, the viera had been watching the entire massacre from a safe distance. Viera's eyes were sharp, their noses tingled with the smell of the mist. And if she were hume or understood hume mannerism, she would have chosen a side. But she did not understand, stood watching above, at the barbaric behaviour between humes.

Down below, the inhabitants had heard the blood-curling screams, the sound of gun-fire, the clanking steel against steel, and more howling that resulted in was the Rozarrian who rushed towards the hill with his female companions to find the source of horrifying sounds.

Ashelia grit her teeth, and wished she had her weapon, any weapon. She did not believe that she needed it here, and tried to keep pace with Al-Cid. He had noticed her at his side and paused momentarily, grabbing her shoulders to halt her advancement, "Forgive me, Amalia from Rabanastre, but you must remain here. There is …I believe much tragedy going on and I would hate to see you cut down."

She stopped his action, as he was about to turn away and back up the hill, "Wait. I can help. I can fight with you. The more aid these people need, the better! But I do not have a weapon. My skills are exemplary, if you would trust me."

He sent her a look of surprise, and she knew that he did not have time to mull over such matters, not when the truth of her words were more than sensible. He could not waste time, nor argue with the Dalmascan hume, for the look in her eyes gave him cause to assent to her plea. He then turned to one of his female companions, "Give the lady a sword, one of yours." The quiet Rozarrian hume nodded at her noble leader, procured a blade from a lengthy scabbard which was hung securely at her back; another weapon--hers tied closely with a leather belt along her waist. Ashelia nodded and gratefully, taking the offered long blade, thanking them.

With one look of the sword, it was easy to recognize: a claymore--- the long edge reflected and sharpened against the fire-light of the campfires. She strode up the hill, more confident with the borrowed blade, and saw to her horror the bodies lying alongside the path towards the temple. There was blood everywhere, and death clung strong; faced down citizens bled from head and body, and some, who were alive, were clinging desperately for life, their fingers curling in the air, reaching out to her.

They had croaked out a frantic appeal for potions, for healing, anything to help relieve their pains. She got down on one knee, retrieving the potions she kept with her to heal the gashes and open wounds. Yet, some of the dying were so badly damaged, the potions were not enough. But they managed to keep their pains at bay, healing most of their body and trauma. They had thanked her profusely, one of the men—a refugee she had saved, pulled her hands to his lips, kissing the palm and fingers with a fervency, "Thank you, you are our saviour, a queen to our hearts."

She winced at the title, and though it was an endearment, she nodded, smiled and moved on. When the few who were healed from her aid had realized the true horror, not distracted from their pains, they cried into their hands and the sound of it tore her heart apart. Another and another had asked for help, and she was searching frantically for more potions in her pockets, was distressed to find that she only had one more.

From a distance, she could hear more gun-fire, more smoke rising from the ashes, and the sound of cries, mixing with the clash of swords piercing against the other; she caught sight of Al-Cid with his companions fighting against several soldiers, guard hounds secured in thick armour around their close-cropped fur pounced on one of the Rozarrian girls and with one quick hold had sunk its fangs into her neck. She screamed, distracting Al-Cid from his battle with three Imperial soldiers, so that when he cried out in alarm, saw his girl trying to fight off the large mastiff, he was instantly sent stumbling on his backside, losing his sword with one quick swipe. The other girl had blocked the Imperial's sword—the one who had found an opening that would have met Al-Cid's vulnerable spot. With one quick roll, the Rozarrian noble moved away to clutch frantically for his sword, going back into the fight.

Ashelia hurriedly pulled out the last potion and offered it to the dying old man, his withered face smiling despite the blood that was pouring from his sides. With his shaking hands he saw her distress, stopped the opening of the potion, "Nay, I am already too old, I've lived a good life. Keep it, young lady, for yourself. And live."

She felt the tears sting her eyes, shaking her head, "Do not worry, I will get more, I'm sure of it." And this was nonsense, for she did not really know if Gabranth would come in time. _Where, in the gods of Ivalice was he?_ She was suddenly busted with anger, ire at the lateness of the Judge's arrival. Her eyes looked towards the horizon, past the cries of furious battling, the darkness melding with the smoke, and there—was more, worse than she had ever seen.

A Judge Magister she had never seen before stood out like a blazing solar mobile amongst the gloom, but he was, if anything darkness himself. The cliché of his appearance was nothing dumb in her mind, her eyes fastened on him with a kind of fascinated horror. Anger smouldered, gripping her claymore's hilt with much force, stood up, legs tensed; she stared at the way he shoved the rest of the fighting acolytes, the kiltias who were armed, propelled them so hard with one swoop of his long curving golden blade, flew them into the air, much like sweeping dust away. The victims screamed before landing hard against the pillars, against the ascending stairs, the blood pouring like a fountain. Flesh and bone broken in a heap, the magick-users were using their concentrated efforts to intercept this avenging judicial figure, of steel and Archadian armour. His voice boomed across the field, like a preacher speaking of Vayne's ascension, of a day of reckoning, and of the coming of one unified power.

She was about to run towards him, intent on cutting him down, but heard her false name from behind. She tensed, and_ knew…_

"Amalia!" he called again, and she turned to face him, saw Gabranth, with his full armour, his helm on his arm, the sword—his double edged weapon held tightly within his gloved hand, and her eyes flew to the clinging young female hume by his side. She sent her a look of confusion, gazing at her and at him; and when the blonde female looked at the Judge, the look was full of concern, bearing with it a kind of awe. Ashelia supposed he must have landed his smaller aircraft by the Rift down the hill, for there was still some snow clinging to his shoulders, his helm recently taken off.

This was not the time to wonder at his tardiness, or find reason why he decided to bring a painted female who clung to his arm, at this place, but she met his cool eyes with ire, "You're too late! There are people dying here, if you haven't seen and heard already! I'm going in, Gabranth."

"Hold, woman." He reached her before she could advance, pulling her aside, "I have words with that Judge; this is not your fight."

She gazed at him, anger spitting through her eyes, "It's everyone's fight! How dare you be so insensible! Always selfishly thinking of your honour and _your_ fight, but it's us, all of us who need to stop this madness. Look around you, Gabranth! These people were depending on this place for security and a place to find a home. I'm not sitting here like a nursemaid; I've no more potions on my possession. You will aid me to fight your fellow Judge, that bastard who wears the same cape you bear. It looks like he's going after Anastasis."

She knew she was harsh with him again, but she had to spit the words like acid into his face, for her palm itched to land a terrible cuff against his cheek.

The girl behind Gabranth piped in, "I can help too." She stared into her eyes, unwavering, "I did not come along with Lord Gabranth because I am helpless. I too possess some skill."

"Enough." The Judge cut in abruptly, "you're both wasting my time." And he pushed aside to stride with deliberate ease, his cape billowing behind him, past the bodies, past the moans and the smell of death, of smoke, and dying fires, into the fray of battle.

Ashelia turned to the blonde female, "Come then if you can fight," saw that she did indeed possess a weapon of her own; a crossbow attached to her back, with arrows and sharpened triangle-shaped heads attached, "we need every available skilled hand."

The princess was met with an equally enthusiastic nod; the girl stepping in measured pace with her.

----

Gabranth stormed up the steps, taking two at a time, irritated beyond belief, of Judge Bergan's slaughter, the soldiers who were still fighting against the dying and helpless acolytes, the kiltias with their even pathetic weapons. There were dead refugees everywhere. Some of the soldiers had seen him, had stopped their battle as he pushed them aside, "Cease this. I will deal with Bergan." He ordered coldly, wore his signature helm so that he could see through the golden slits---of their fear, of the battle adrenalin they forcedly fused, now dying in a slow blink.

Of all the judges, he was most respected, not out of fear, as Judge Bergan invoked in their hearts. They saw Judge Gabranth with more out of a high regard of his character, as a Commander who upheld the law, taking the less brutal and less violent route. But they knew that he was no slouch when it came to battle. Ah—he could almost laugh at the incongruity, of their misguided ideals, for he knew what he was, felt he was no better than Bergan.

A kind of hushed awe went through the Imperials, glad to set their bludgeon weapons & steel blades aside. They gathered together-- the ones that were slightly injured; the ones who were still standing to gaze at the Judge climbing the stairs, accompanied by two hume-females.

A painful moan echoed through the field of dead, but one could not pinpoint where it came from, there were broken sobs and smoke fires, broken pillars; stains of flesh and blood scattered over the torn architecture.

When they reached the top of the temple, the double doors were already unbolted, and a scene unfolded before them. A gasp was heard next to Gabranth, of the girl 'Lo who, as he saw from the corner of his eyes, had her hands over her mouth. He felt Ashelia beside him stand rigid, and if he didn't know better she was calling forth the fury from the skies. He hoped for their sake, if he did not cut down Bergan first, that she would be prepared for her quickening.

Judge Bergan had his back to them, holding the old Dreamer in his arms, the wizened face was limp against the armoured shoulder, his arms flopped listlessly against his sides, and the Magister pushed the frail body against the dreaming throne. The blood had smeared over the dreamer's robes, staining the chest where Bergan had severed the skin and bone through. Bergan pulled out his curving sword with one drag, the sound of the extraction caused another painful cry from 'Lo.

Bergan turned at the intrusion, his wild eyes were glazed in a kind of madness, one which looked surprisingly close to Dr. Cid's, and Gabranth knew…knew that Bergan was under the influence. He recognized that madness when Bergan sent Drace's body flying with force, so that she crumbled helplessly on the ground. He had been too late when he entered then. Ah, but everything had been forming and coming to this culmination. And he would have to be forced to take sides, to abandon his already initial shock when his true liege had found Vayne's dagger on his sire's back. He did not even have time to mourn. Not for Lord Gramis, not for Drace.

Bergan reached for his helm, was accompanied with his personal soldiers, ones that answered only to his side, "I had not thought to see you here, Gabranth," grumbling loudly, "hmmm" ;a low thunderous roll from his chest, "On second thought, I was half hoping you would appear," his eyes settled on Ashelia, "and, of course, you brought with, our Vagrant Princess."

Ashelia sucked in her breath, "If you think you can just get away with this," her teeth clenched, "you're not going to make it out of here alive."

"What? What say you, Princess? A threat? From one so powerless such as you? You were told to retrieve the Sword of Kings, were you not? Too late. Too late for everything." He sent her a wide portentous grin, showing broad teeth, bearing fangs on the corners, his craggily face almost baleful in his assessment of her, "You mean killing the dreamer? Ha! Too late and to their sorrow to those who misplace their trust in Gods learn their fate."

"Manufactured Nethicite." Gabranth whispered, his eyes narrowed.

His words though be it soft, beneath his breath was heard, and Bergan strode forward, his golden curving sword shone with an eerie mist, his body misted with raw power, "Dalmasca has no place in this world, Princess, King Raithwall was only a cur begging for scraps, but the true Dynast-King is nigh, Lord Vayne is the true Dynast-King. Raithwall only pretended, and you Gabranth, you would have reigned next to him, would have been loyal to the Empire, save not for your softness that had you cowing to a Vagrant Princess, true irony it has been, has it not Gabranth? For the very duty you were supposed to attend in Vayne's order has revealed your weakness. Weakness for the Princess's flesh, though she be of some beauty, I would not have succumbed so easily, were I in your stead. But chose I he did not, for t'was your face, which holds a special appeal to our liege. Now you contest I; your very equal! Forsooth, I have begun to grow weary of the unchallenging opponents here. They are merely pawns, unlike us; they shattered easily before my blade. Now, I can test my power against yours, Gabranth. We shall face off together, and I shall be glad to see you beg and cower like the hound you are. I shall enjoy cutting your pretty mouth with my fist. HARK--!!"

And Bergan would have kept on talking save for the obvious fact that an arrow slid through his mouth, while chattering away. Gabranth sent 'Lo a quick glance, his lips twitched for a smile; she stood rigid, her mouth a thin line, the crossbow steadied by her skilled fingers.

"Take that, loudmouth!" 'Lo yelled, confident.

--

* * *

_--to be continued--_


	30. Chapter 30: The End of the Beginning

The Judge Magister Bergan, with all his talk and pompous display fell in a crumbling heap, his mouth gurgled with a sound between choking and gasping, clutching for the arrow to be pulled out. But the arrow was too anchored in the skin and bone. His body landed heavily on the ground, the dust and broken pieces of architecture flew away from him. He lay still on his back.

It would seem that Bergan had met his fate with one treacherous arrow. It was over. The three approached steadily at the fallen Judge. And while there were two other soldiers on the side of the heartless Judge--who would have fought against the trio, Gabranth's authority managed to quell their intent, and found much sense by running down the hill, avoiding a confrontation.

'Lo shook her head, "That was," she pursed her lips, "a little easier than I thought." She looked from Bergan's body to Bergan's retreating soldier's disappearing through the double doors, "They spook easily."

Gabranth nodded slow, blew a kind of whistle through his lips, and winked at 'Lo, "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

She breathed, whispering, "I didn't think that my crossbow would be enough. Maybe he's just, well maybe that was his weak spot."

"Could be." He took at look at one of her arrows, "poison?" He lifted a brow, "what else could have easily taken Bergan?

"Bad immune system." 'Lo joked, smiling, "can't take it."

"We must take care to see if he is truly dead."

"He looks dead, stiff actually. His eyes look really freaky, bulging like that." 'Lo shuddered, "maybe we should close them."

Gabranth quickly glanced at Ashelia, who was already walking over, and she paused long enough to analyze Bergan's body, "He's not breathing."

Ashelia ignored Bergan's body, stepping over it and running to Anastasis's side, "He's gone, Gabranth." She whispered, turning towards him in appeal, "He told me, to get the Sword of Kings, for there my identity would be secured."

"You still actually believe that?" Gabranth sent her a look of disbelief.

"Just because you and I have different philosophies, Gabranth, does not mean yours have any more claim to being right than mine own. The dreamer was famous for his dreams, and his prophecies were.."

"Take a look at them now, Princess. Philosophies and what you and I believe have nothing to do with this. The dreamer dreamt of your Sword of Kings, but he was like any other man, any other hume, any other of the races that inhabit Ivalice. Fate is not woven by dreams, nor will it give you your kingdom back. Not like this."

"Gabranth, I know what you want me to do..." she sent him a sharp glare, "You want me, as always to take revenge, against the Empire. Do you think me fool that all this time, that you've not given up? That you believe I would not take revenge if you were not there, by my side, holding my hand, holding my body at night, tell me in your whispers how the Empire has grown cold, that everything you've ever believed, has crumbled like dust, and your disappointments eat at you?"

"Princess._ Don't_." He breathed, and his heart felt that tugging pain.

And they had more than revealed the identity of her status, because 'Lo was gaping openly, "Princess! Then it's true! You're Princess Ashelia B'Nargin...our princess of Dalmasca..." she swallowed, "Oh gods, we had hoped, that this was true."

Ashelia was too tired to argue and make false claims, "Aye, but I think, while you may find this simple to acknowledge, others may find it too difficult to grasp. The announcement of my existence does not prove much, but spur the empire to denounce me, censurely condemn any claim I offer, embaress me as false. Which may...in turn place me under arrest."

'Lo nodded, "I understand."

Ashelia stepped over Bergan again, and a hand reached up and wrapped itself around her ankle. 'Lo yelled out something, but the Princess was too busy trying to disentangle her ankle from the offending hand. She was about to land a blow to Bergan's outstretched arm with her sword but the grab unbalanced her. Gabranth instantly ran over to aid, but the princess was pulled down violently atop Bergan's body, managing to position her so that her neck was exposed to his hidden dagger.

Bergan wheezed, blood had seemed to stop pouring out of his mouth where the arrow was lodged, "Come any closer, Gabranth, and your precious princess will meet her gods much sooner than anticipated," trying desperately to talk, and the princess struggled at first, but the blade came much too close upon her skin, the first signs of her blood noticable against the pressure of his blade.

Gabranth clenched his fists, "Bergan, your fight is with me, is it not? Let the Princess go, and we'll continue the battle, alone. Without interruption."

"Ah, so you wish to rescue your Vagrant princess?" he pulled them up on a sitting position, managing to keep her neck close to his weapon while using his other hand to pull the arrow out of his mouth. Gabranth could only note by the way Ashelia was pleading with him in her eyes, that Bergan's strength was incredible. He remembered. It was the same occurance with Drace, when the former Judge had been taken by surprise at the monstrous power Bergan possessed. How could he be such a fool? A slight arrow, be it poison or laced with acid would not have taken Bergan down.

"Bergan, your desire to battle is to have a challenge. Let her go."

"I want to hear you begging, Gabranth. Beg for your princess." He sneered, the blood drying quick around his mouth, and the arrow 'Lo gave him was thrown easily to the ground.

"Gabranth.." Ashelia whispered, shaking her head slightly, her eyes misted with unshed tears.

"_Please..."_ Gabranth called out, "Bergan, anything..." He would have taken a step closer, but Ashelia was pulled tighter into Bergan's embrace, so that she painfully cried out, her blood lining the silver edge.

Gabranth's vision seem to blur from rage.

* * *

_**--the end of part I.**_


End file.
